


All Tomorrow's Parties(Part Two)

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [21]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, 1980s, 20th Century, Adult Content, Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Musicians, Other characters from Poldark will be added, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Spoilers, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: "I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,And recks not his own rede."Ophelia, Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Malcolm McNeil, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Hugh Armitage/Demelza Carne
Series: 33 and 1/3 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 270
Kudos: 30





	1. Karn Evil 9

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a 'sex, drugs and rock and roll' based, canon divergent, 20th century, alternate universe version of Winston Graham's Poldark saga and may contain spoilers for the whole series, INCLUDING CHARACTER DEATHS.  
> If you wish to remain unspoiled for books after WG's 'The Loving Cup', the last chapter in this story is 'You Make Loving Fun' and you should not read past that point.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New readers may like a short account of the characters and what has gone on before, and since Part One was some time ago, even former readers who remember a great deal may appreciate a brief résumé.

Welcome back, my friend, to the show that never ends...

Creator:  
fairlightscales  
Series Begun:  
2019-07-12

Back in the before times when life was blamelessly normal, I made up a user name and posted "New Career In A New Town" set in the 1970s and a primative fragment of this story, "All Tomorrow's Parties". At that time I had begun the story at the Very Bad Thing, Elizabeth telling Ross she would marry George Warleggan, had no intention of explaining any earlier part and was content to believe it would live in AO3 harmony among all the other, disparate Poldark fanfiction tales holding its own and perhaps finding readers. So... Reaction was swift. It was intriguing to some readers as an out of left field idea, deeply confusing for most readers for it dropped everyone in the middle of an unexplained senario, and it's central premise, that Demelza invited Malcolm, her friend and drummer, and Hugh, her bass player and manager to sleep with her in a ménage à trois at the Plaza Hotel in New York City was an arch provocation. Also, the plot was driven by unreliable narration on the part of Hugh and Malcolm giving the impression that Ross was engineered to be a villain of the piece, a drug addled tyrant that kept Demelza down.

In irritation I wrote the second piece in this series, "The Wall" with the characters in parley on my behalf (still riddled with typos, I was very upset). But the push back, readers' perfectly reasonable confusion as to what on earth was going on and the realization that I had a responsibility to conduct the story properly did make me reassess the situation. I wrote the third piece, "Ballroom Blitz", to cheer myself up and started writing "Little Wing" while continuing with parts of the main story. "Why Don't We Do It In The Road" was going to be the final chapter of "Little Wing" Until I reread something I made Ross think to himself that became part of "Sympathy For The Devil":

"A stuffy executive like Hugh couldn't know what it was like, to spend the days playing music and the nights clubbing. To enjoy their honeymoon in London, and continuing it at Nampara. How they'd been each other's completely and lived in an Eden of their own. Days and days of fine, sunny weather, making love incessantly. They would spend their evenings playing acoustic guitar, sometimes under the stars not just in the house. He'd bought Dem her Gibson the way another man might have chosen a diamond ring. The inlayed mother of pearl scrolled leaves and flowers glimmered on the fretboard. It was perfect for her. It was vastly expensive but Ross could chose no other. When he gave it to her, Dem's eyes lit from within, from love, from the excitement of knowing it was for her very own. What could Armitage know about that?"

I realized that NO ONE "knew about that", and it was a disservice to the story. "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?" became its own story and "Gimme Shelter" as added to acknowledge general explanations of Julia, the trial brought on by the Warleggans framing Ross, the scandal over Dwight having an affair with the wife of a roadie, Mark Daniel, the Resurgam tour collapsing after Mark strangled his wife and the album "Valley Of Bread".

Each time period of "Parties" is quarantined in the different stories. Some are linear for a while and then extra tales from that time are tacked on out of order. The different parts were posted as they came to mind and have been left in a sort of jumble. I can only plead eccentricity. I have the entire "Parties" story in my head, other universes in my head and just continue to flit between all of it.

All that to say this, "All Tomorrow's Parties(Part Two) is the 21st part (!) of the 33&1/3 series and brings The Plaza affair into the proper timeline. It was never supposed to be this way. COVID19 swept across the globe and shut us all up in our houses. "Supper's Ready" a dark reckoning between Elizabeth, Ross, Dem, and George over Valentine's parentage set to a Genesis song cycle became totally unappealing to me. I wrote fairy tales instead that were completely divorced from "Parties" and ballooned out to proportions I had not envisioned when I started. This was a blessing in disguise. Other "Ross and Dem" universes I now hold dear came into being and made me very happy in a world gone awry.

So "All Tomorrow's Parties (Part Two)" continues where "Sympathy For The Devil" left off. If you read:

Little Wing  
Why Don't We Do It In The Road  
Gimme Shelter  
All Tomorrow's Parties  
Heatwave  
Sympathy For The Devil

In that order, the story will have gone from Winston Graham's "Ross Poldark" to "Black Moon" and lead you here. Part Two enters "The Four Swans" period with the caveat that some characters have longer arcs than they did in WG original story.

In 1964, Ross Poldark, a rock guitarist and leader of the band Resurgam, got hooked on heroin while working with his EMI Records signed band in New York City. He returns to London, England and became a registered addict. This government program entitled Ross to receive heroin by prescription and on his way to pick up his fix one night he meets twelve year old runaway Demelza Carne. He brings her home believing her to be male and persuaded by his cousin, Verity, quits drugs to look after her. He brings her to Nampara, in Cornwall, and becomes her guardian. Demelza is enrolled in the gentry girls school and learns piano as well as guitar. Like WG's story, the surrounding community believes, erroneously, Ross is sleeping with Dem underage. Ross and Dem marry when she is sixteen. After a period of true bliss culminating in the birth of their daughter, Julia, they soon suffer a string of misfortune. Julia had a cot death, Warleggan Group a record label irritated by Ross' campaign of demanding better monetary compensation for artists at a time when management and the record labels were making the lion share of the money, framed him in a drug smuggling charge that drained Ross and Dem of their money in the need for legal counsel. They have Jeremy and limp along until Ross' previous girlfriend, Elizabeth (Liza), widowed after the death of her husband, Francis, tells Ross that she will marry George Warleggan. This culminates in Ross and Elizabeth sleeping together. Ross suffers a relapse, returning to drugs and alcohol.  
Dem separates from Ross, staying in the modest London house Ross owns from his late mother. While in London she meets Malcolm McNeil a drummer who befriends her and becomes a dogwalker for Garrick and a help to the household supporting Jinny, Jeremy's nanny, on Saturdays. He also jams with Demelza in a run down rehearsal room two times a week, him on drums, Dem on a borrowed guitar. Ross cleaned himself up and reconciled with Dem, in part because Ross performed a love song, "Thy Sweetness", to ask Dem's forgiveness on nationwide television on the music program Top Of The Pops. Dem returned to Cornwall from London and they had Clowance. Later, Malcolm, so sure that Demelza would be an amazing performer in her own right invites Dem to meet with Hugh Armitage, an English record producer who had a stellar career in France. Hugh returns to England not only to try to manage a U.K. performer successfully in England but also because he is having a private health crisis. Hugh, impressed by Demelza and willing to play bass as well as manage the band signs Demelza and Malcolm to Warner Records without disclosing his health issues. Hugh, a creature of corporate management, aesthetic sophistication and wealth, looks askance at Demelza's husband, Ross. He thinks Ross is neglectful of his wife's prospects and believes, erroneously, that Ross cheated Demelza out of the chance to have a EMI deal of her own by "making her" work on Resurgam's fourth album with credit only, no points on the record that would entitle her to earnings from the record's sale or a formal contractual deal with EMI to record a follow up. Ross and Dem, who submitted a session they recorded on a whim during their honeymoon to EMI to fulfill Resurgam's obligation to provide a fourth record when the band had fallen apart after the third album, did not have any intention of using those songs for an album, Resurgam or otherwise. By not explaining this to Hugh Armitage, Ross and Hugh misunderstand each other and form dislike. Malcolm, loyal friend to Demelza and her children, nicknamed "Blue" to Dem's "Red", is glad to be working on music with her. That their friendship is marked by a casual physical closeness; they call each other Red and Blue to the exclusion of their real names, hug and hold hands as the walk, they often watch TV with an arm around the other, is of interest to everyone around them. Sir Hugh Brodrugan, an EMI power baron who noticed them during Dem's separation in London, is convinced, erroneously, that Malcolm had an affair with her. People who see them together are left to wonder about the nature of their relationship. Ross dislikes this closeness between them, particularly because Dem initiates it as often as Malcolm. Ross is too cowed over his affair with Liza, and the fact that he impregnated Elizabeth in the process, with Ross' son, Valentine, being raised by George Warleggan as a Warleggan, to press the matter. Demelza and Malcolm see no problem in this behaviour, though Malcolm does fancy his friend. They believe themselves above board and not a problem, they both "know their place". Red is married. Blue is a friend. That's that...

So, without further ado, Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karn Evil 9, Emerson, Lake and Palmer 1974
> 
> Welcome back, my friends  
> To the show that never ends  
> We're so glad you could attend  
> Come inside! Come inside
> 
> There behind a glass  
> Stands a real blade of grass  
> Be careful as you pass  
> Move along! Move along
> 
> Come inside, the show's about to start  
> Guaranteed to blow your head apart  
> Rest assured you'll get your money's worth  
> The greatest show in Heaven, Hell, or Earth
> 
> You've got to see the show, it's a dynamo  
> You've got to see the show, it's rock and roll
> 
> Right before your eyes  
> We'll pull laughter from the skies  
> And he laughs until he cries  
> Then he dies, then he dies
> 
> You've got to see the show, it's a dynamo  
> You've got to see the show, it's rock and roll
> 
> Soon the Gypsy Queen  
> In a glaze of Vaseline  
> Will perform on guillotine  
> What a scene! What a scene  
> Next upon the stand  
> Will you please extend a hand  
> To Alexander's Ragtime Band  
> Dixieland, Dixieland
> 
> Roll up! Roll up! Roll up  
> See the show
> 
> Performing on a stool  
> We've a sight to make you drool  
> Seven virgins and a mule  
> Keep it cool. Keep it cool  
> We would like it to be known  
> The exhibits that were shown  
> Were exclusively our own  
> All our own. All our own
> 
> Come and see the show  
> Come and see the show  
> Come and see the show  
> See the show
> 
> See the show
> 
> New readers may like a short account...: preface of WG's "Bella Poldark"


	2. Get It While You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idle talk

Elizabeth sighed as she tossed the Telegraph On Sunday Magazine aside. "Problem?" asked George in a bored sounding voice as he looked at the business section. "Why does that girl never wear shoes?!" Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Dem?" asked George, knowing full well that was who she meant. He had seen it before she came down the breakfast and wondered if it might cause comment. Talk of Demelza Poldark's signing with Warner was buzzing among industry chit chat. Hugh Armitage made a point of touting his little science experiment in many non music periodicals. A trio made up of Ross Poldark's wife, a drummer and the manager as the bass player. George had seen Demelza play guitar informally one Christmas, when Elizabeth was still married to Francis, Ross' cousin. She had talent to be sure but George was not convinced the girl could make it as a star. George assumed Armitage was probably called in from WEA, the European arm of Warner, on purpose. The French always had starlets on the hit parade there. They probably wanted her talked up to boost album sales. George wouldn't be surprised if she got laughed off the stage what ever they ended up doing. Ross probably filled her head with ideas above her station, a little groupie believing herself equal to her husband. George had expected Demelza to be on Ross' label, EMI. George gave a small, derisive snort. Ross probably HAD to send her to Warner Records, his up and down relationship with EMI probably wouldn't have done his wife any favors even with that daft Christmas song he had hit with. Elizabeth, taking her husband's snort of derision as a signal to reply, tut tutted as she sipped her tea. "She is surrounded by every baron of that label and she still carries on like that!" She gestured off the side, towards the magazine, to a second, smaller picture of Demelza and her drummer, Dem as barefoot in her finery among powerful record executives as she tromped about in Ross' house, Nampara. "Well, my dear," said George drily, "That Armitage probably had to cast his forfeits there. A drummer dragged up from who knows where and that slag..." Elizabeth, not realizing George meant to continue speaking mused aloud. "He got her and that drummer into decent clothes at least..." George continued. "The Nampara Poldarks were always said to be feral..." Elizabeth who now realized too late she had brought it on herself awaited the barb. "...having lain with Ross it's a testament to the Chynoweth constitution that no fleas have clung to you." She let it lie, the barb. It was an outgrowth of their situation that served as a leveler in some ways. George's sarcasm could be borne for he held his part of their marital bargain. George, in all ways, treated the two Poldark stepchildren as his own. Geoffrey Charles, son of her late husband, Francis was sent to school and given everything a lad of his station could hope to want. An outgrowth of George's role as godfather as well as being his wife's child from her previous marriage. Valentine, Elizabeth's second son was a thornier issue. George was initially under the belief that he had sirred the boy in a devil may care romp before they wed. A spontaneous enjoyment fueled by champagne and the fact that they were to wed anyway. Later, as Valentine had a raft of health issues his blood type was discovered to exclude George as the father. With that, Elizabeth had no recourse but to admit her dalliance with her cousin by marriage and former boyfriend, Ross Poldark. George was compelled to take the longer view. His marriage to Elizabeth had opened doors of society to him that he'd not have open to him otherwise. He permitted the world at large to see Valentine as his own son. That said, George still reserved the right to rub Elizabeth's face in her disgrace from time to time. In this Elizabeth also took the longer view. She crested into the role she was reared to fill, a high society wife. Her previous marriage gave prestige but Warleggan coffers gave her the assured security of being stupendously wealthy. Her lifestyle grew apace and sons were well provided for. George found the key to the wider world of high society and it was her. Both realized they were stronger together than apart. Even if Valentine's parentage was not suspected by the public at large in a divorce, by ending the marriage they each would be diminished in the eyes of others and George would end up paying so much maintenance to her in a divorce it was less hassle to stay as they were. Occasional grousing was able to be tolerated. They continued breakfast in silence but George mentioned something he had heard Sir Hugh Brodrugan say about Ross Poldark's wife to someone else. "It is suggested that the drummer is her bit of rough..." Elizabeth frowned. "What? Demelza...? Oh, I can't see that being true... who said that?!" George watched his wife's face turn to genuine puzzlement. He laughed a little. Like Elizabeth, George, for all he effortlessly called Dem "a slag", could not see Dem, so thoroughly tied to Ross, having an affair with her drummer. "It's just idle talk from that EMI gossip monger, Hugh Brodrugan," said George. "But it shows Dem's reputation among those power barons is fairly low. If she even charts a single it would be a miracle. They probably just want the chance to have it off with 'Thy Sweetness'... Promise her a chart position for a favor," he snickered. "One suspects that Armitage might demand his "cut" from her too. He managed French girls, I can't see him bestowing all that success on them without a quid pro quo!" Elizabeth tsked as George chuckled over the idea. She was not so naive to shrug off the idea, not because it would bring Dem low or even believed that Demelza would do such a thing. Elizabeth did not think Dem had it in her, to trade sex for advancement. Elizabeth saw Dem as a young, meek child bride. Ross married her at sixteen. She was immature and clung to Ross like a barnacle. But Elizabeth had no doubt the men in high places at the very least would try to angle themselves that sort of arrangement whether the artist declined or acquiesced. However her manager conducted himself she suspected Dem wouldn't be the first woman to have to fend off unsavory propositions from corporate men in the snake pit they called "Entertainment", nor the last. She watched George resume reading the paper. She shivered at an unpleasant thought. Had she cast her forfeit? Had _Elizabeth_ traded sex for advancement? Elizabeth had her high net worth marriage and her children... Ross' child... Elizabeth had that night and their son... Ross slunk back to his little wife, made a spectacle of himself braying about mistletoe on Top Of The Pops and then congratulated themselves for having another child in that cheap gossip paper, so common! That girl was turning Ross common rather than him bringing her up to their level, Ross and Elizabeth's level, gentry. Elizabeth ensnared Ross' lust but the triumph of wresting him from his little beggar girl, even the bittersweet pride of his enjoyable attentions and calling her "Liza" in the throes of his pleasure had tarnished. So like the stab of a treacherous knife Elizabeth realized in hindsight she had harnessed a flicker of empty passion from him. Ross slunk off, not even interested in fighting for his own son, he just stood by and accepted George raising Valentine with no resistance. George was just as weak. He was bitter over things but he obeyed her will. The Chynoweth pedigree was a fair recompense one supposed. George was so wealthy he eclipsed the station of his birth. Now she gave him the air of legitimacy he was so desperate to have and Valentine's "air of legitimacy" was seen as a small price to pay for it. Elizabeth used sex to get her way. She got her way. Why was she not happy? In truth, with her marriage to George for all he had money and power she and Ross had both married down. Francis had been her social peer. Now they had both wed people beneath their social class. Elizabeth used to salve some of her disappointments by telling herself she and Ross wouldn't have been happy together because they were too dissimilar. It irritated Elizabeth to realize she and Ross were more alike than different. 'Men are dogs.' thought Elizabeth as she sipped more tea.

Hugh was very pleased with Telegraph On Sunday's article. It was just right for conservative newspaper readers. The larger photo, so formal; he, Malcolm and Demelza looking elegant among Warner executives was perfect. The casual reader would see that first, imprint that idea first, even if Demelza was unknown to them. The smaller picture; Demelza and Malcolm looking happy and laughing together, his tie loosened, his jacket off, her feet bare even as she wore a sophisticated silk dress, would catch the attention of the closer reader, be noticed by the younger reader, the college age or even secondary school age members of the household. A subtle hint that this trio held credit in the "straight world" but retained an artist's credibility, a "realness". The younger record buyer was key. Hugh had a hunch that the vogue for buying albums was here to stay but a swing towards singles record buying, like the old days, would return. Buying singles would emerge once more as popular. A downturn in employment and rising inflation, even as decimalization was more integrated these days meant that the pocket money of the young had more sway than proper wages of older folk. Kids would buy the singles they heard to make their money go further, and be seen as somewhat sophisticated among their friends. They would have the hit songs the saw performed on TV or heard on the radio. The discretionary spending was chasing downward to the young kids who were kept by their parents or older kids with their own weekend jobs. It followed that courting that youth spending was wise. Hugh set the magazine aside, rubbed his eyes. The headaches were becoming more frequent. There was a specialist in New York. Hugh had meant to get out there before now but meeting Malcolm at Sir Hugh Brodrugan's salon had moved things forward quickly. Hugh went from having no candidate for his plan to launch a British performer in the French manner, to having a prime candidate pretty much drop in his lap. Demelza Poldark, a "triple threat"; she could sing, write music and was a strong musician, played guitar with the verve and technical skill to rival a man and piano as well. She was also stunningly photogenic and her marriage to Ross Poldark gave her name recognition that could built upon as she brought her music forward. The energy and ideas that they were working on was invigorating for Hugh even as he did feel unwell sometimes. The work was pulling him through. The enthusiasm of Malcolm and Demelza as they brought songs into form was pulling him forward these days. Hugh was in the thick of it, not just producing the music, he was shaping the songs, bringing them into being! It was bracing and exciting. They were a band and the work was going well but it wasn't work alone. Demelza and Malcolm, Red and Blue, had a sort of open hearted friendliness between them that made Hugh feel a bit paternal towards them. He liked being around them both. Demelza had married too young, thought Hugh. Her husband was a decade older than his wife, a bit self absorbed, he waxed and waned as a rock performer, had a satisfaction perhaps in a wife too young to know to ask for points on a record or demand her own electric guitar instead of being relegated to his Fenders, like a lending library... She seemed muted when Hugh saw her with Ross. She was a mother too and that, of course was a priority in their life together... Hugh sighed. Demelza was a beautiful, talented woman. She was not muted when she worked with him and Malcolm. She was vibrant and gorgeous. She was magical. Hugh taken to calling her "ma fée", my fairy, as an endearment. She struck him as such from the moment he met her. Fey and ethereal, smiling, wandering through the party with Malcolm with a jolly sense of adventure. Her husband hung back, let them go about together. He seemed unphased by her closeness to the Scot as they even walked arm in arm. Her friendship with Malcolm was charming; his regard and his wont, to chaperone her like a "old tyme beau", their sibling like camaraderie. Malcolm had a sweet tooth, always some sort of candy on his person. He offered sweets casually to any who happened to be near and Hugh often watched Demelza picking one out of a sweet packet that Malcolm held open for her like a gallant. Hugh had come to dub them 'Hansel and Gretel' in his thoughts. Two loyal friends, a drummer and a guitarist who knew each other's playing inside and out, working class with the closeness of a brother and sister, eating Malcolm's sweets. It cheered him to watch their strong bond, pleased him to work within their musicianship, and Hugh liked watching the conduct between them, the ease with which she gave 'Blue' a hug, the tender way they often walked in the street holding hands, and yet... Like an afterthought or an inevitability. An affection so basic between them that carnality didn't intrude upon it. Demelza seemed to rely on this being so and Malcolm gave no suggestions that he would ever seek to escalate these physicalities. Hugh noticed others look on with the same fascination he had at his bandmates companionship. It seemed the only people who saw no hint of possible romance between them were 'Red and Blue' themselves. Hugh couldn't help but wonder if she might turn to the drummer in a more serious manner. That the Scot was soft on her was obvious but he was an upstanding sort. "Blue" was happy to be her friend, a jolly sort of uncle to her children, even the Poldarks' dog. Blue had no intention to upset the apple cart. Malcolm was quite offended when Hugh asked him, point blank, if there was anything between them. One suspected Malcolm looked askance at Ross Poldark's behavior too, sometimes, but Malcolm wasn't the sort to disregard a marriage. The drummer would not pursue a married woman on principle. Hugh could see the drummer worked within a series of rules and taboos that were set in him by his working class parents and he was loathe to fall afoul of these absolutes. They were so happy in each others company though... Hugh closed his left eye. He looked about. His right eye seemed blurred sometimes but he saw things correctly at this moment. That was a bit more nerve wracking. Like believing something threatening lay behind the door, creeping upon it and turning it aside to find nothing... but still feeling like the threat is still about. There was too much at stake, too much to do, to much potential for victory to risk ignoring the chance of a consultation with the American physician. Hugh wanted to know what he was up against. Demelza was, absolutely, a star in the making. He wanted to see it happen. He wanted to make it happen. He he wanted the challenge as an experiment at first but the bit was between his teeth now. Demelza had a gratifying family life with an ineffective husband, not lifting a finger to bring her talent forward and a loyal friend in her drummer. Hugh, clearly, was third in his client's life. But he could be of value to her for all he was third. A way to kill two birds with one stone. Hire time in a New York studio and see the specialist all in one go. Malcolm had already lived and worked as a session player in the States and Demelza could have tracks recorded in New York a feather in her cap as well as a sweetener to the label, give her a sheen of international glamour, give Warner more reasons to take Demelza seriously. Hugh would see his little fairy at the top of the charts. It would work.

Ross chuckled. "The Hustler!" he read in a booming voice like an announcer of a horror movie title. Dem and Clowance laughed as Jeremy watched Papa set the brochure aside and kneel down to look at the amplifier. He grinned at Papa. "It's orange!" laughed Jeremy. Dem smiled. "Yes, my lover, it is as it must be! It would be strange to call your company 'Orange' and color them something else!" Clowance was set down and she approached the amp. It was a mysterious object. She could rest her hands on it like a little table and batted the top with the flat out her hands like a drum, smiling up at Jeremy and Papa for it was a clever thing to beat it like a drum. "Look at Clo! She thinks its a drum!" said Jeremy. Dem watched Ross and Jeremy dote on Clowance and her smile get even wider as she bloomed at the sight them admiring her. "Well we can vouch for them being sturdy!" joked Ross as he picked Clowance up in an embrace and means to lift her up simultaneously. She put her arms around his neck with a grin. "Can I play through it!?" asked Jeremy. Both Jeremy and Ross, holding Clowance as she smiled at her Papa, blinked a plea at Dem. She smiled sympathetically, she had to disappoint both of them. "After the shoot, we can use it, Jeremy. Two days time and you both can give it a whirl!" Ross and Jeremy pouted their displeasure as Clowance remained happy and Dem bent double laughing. "You can play through it to your hearts delight in two more days! I promise!" The amp removed from its box and its fellows still in their crates sat in a row in the hall. There were three large cabinet amps and three shorter, stubby looking ones. They would be Dem's possessions after the advertising photo shoot. This was as much because she was a spokesmodel for the brand as the fact they were in potential peril for they would be photographed out of doors on sand. Six units marked out was a small price to pay for a campaign as successful as this promised to be. Hugh Armitage had sold Orange on a mermaid concept that was a new and exciting turn in their advertising. Demelza's guitar playing knocked them out and the promise of a guitarist that talented also being so pretty was a new direction for a company with such a male dominated clientele. A model who could actually play. A stretch of private beach in Cornwall with property enough to support all the gear and staff to bring such a shoot off. Perfect. All this and the happy fact that the Poldarks were back in Nampara. They had, all four, gotten used to their London life, and it would resume in time, but returning to Nampara felt like home in truth and it cheered them to return, to return to loving care of the Paynters who heard the excited tales of life in London from the little'uns, Jeremy and Clowance, and their grufflers, Ross and Dem. Dem was working with a manager now and had her friend Malcolm as part of her trio. She would be photographed with those odd, radio looking things on the beach like a proper model in the magazines! Ross smiled over his cup of tea as Dem talked of working on music and the Paynters were charmed. Ross was proud of Demelza and it showed. He had taught her to play guitar and she learned so well a proper amplifier company wanted her as their "Little Mermaid".

Ross watched Jeremy read a story to Clowance and tousled his hair with affection, complimenting him on how well he'd done. They left the parlor and went upstairs to ready for bed. Ross, in the quieter role he had come to inhabit as Dem was more active in her work these days, had come to enjoy his domesticated responsibilities. Tending his children in a way Joshua and probably even Grace, Ross' parents, would not have foreseen or believed of her little boy, of his little tearaway. Ross had come to like being a "hands on" Papa, with Jinny and Betsy as aid of course. There was valor, perhaps in reversing the order of things, Dem working and Ross keeping the home fires burning. It was a closeness Ross might have liked to feel with his own Papa, though times were certainly too different to have had anything like that happen. Ross often wondered if life for him would have been different if Papa had been different. If Joshua had made more time for him, had not gone off... well, there isn't much else to call it, if he hadn't been off whoring and seducing a good portion of the county's women. Had he been more often home, perhaps Ross wouldn't have gone off to London. Wouldn't have pretended himself independent. Ross would have argued he was. Fifteen in a gently shabby three flat house, spending his money on sharp clothes, being a sharp Modernist and dancing every night at the most select R&B enthusiast clubs, holes in the wall, really but the epicenter of all that came after, the Beat Scene, the British Blues Scene the birth of all that music. Ross had entered on the ground floor of a new dawn. But independence was a fig leaf. Ross, so tired of Papa's gossip shop, idle talk everywhere about whoever else had succumb to Papa's antics, that angry father, this angry husband showing up to thrash Papa and finding Joshua absent, finding Ross and Jud instead, carrying on, yelling, ranting even as Jud got rid of them, even nodding a bit, yesing the men quiet as they complained of the wrong Papa had done them. They never got their pound of flesh, Joshua was never around... Ross pretended himself independent but he really just wilted under Papa's notoriety and neglect... Hugs. Ross hugged Clowance. She smiled up her goodnight as Dem stroked her hair gently as she lay in her bed. Ross hugged Jeremy and watched Dem hug Jeremy with the beatific smile that bloomed across her face when she held all three of their children. Ross first spied that smile when she held Julia, the birth of her motherhood as well as their first child. Their much loved first child. Papa used to complain to the air itself, not truly speaking to Ross or anyone that with Grace's death had gone all his luck. Losing Julia had been the first domino falling in a painful chain of misfortune for Ross and Dem. They might have found their way out now, but not without cost. Dem had three children but Ross had four and the fourth was being raised as George Warleggan's son. If Ross had a more cynical temperament he might have felt a happy wickedness in paying Warleggan back for framing him and getting him brought up on drugs charges by landing a cuckoo in his nest as revenge. It had not been so, though the gode of George having Liza as his wife offended Ross to his marrow. Ross simply did what he always managed to do. Make a mess of everything. He hurt Dem, by going off to "speak" to Liza. He raped Liza. Ross had been back and forth in his head over it and could not deny it to himself. He had taken her in anger at the first. One injury to salve another. He and Elizabeth found a truce as they spent the rest of that night turning the first anger into a simulacrum of desired passion. They pretended themselves swept by passion, then found pleasure enough to paper over the cracks of the beginning. Dem was left at Nampara knowing Ross chose to spend the night in Trenwith. He chose to hide from it all. He sought what oblivion he could find and Dem left him. They spent five months apart and within that time Dem happened upon a drummer who birthed a different chain of events and brought Dem a new career. Just like that, really. Ross, having pursued Liza with the thoughtless greediness he so often frowned upon in Papa, might have indirectly conjured Dem's friendship with Malcolm, the producer, Hugh Armitage, this upcoming photo shoot, this hive of activity, in London, in Nampara. He chased Dem away and in that time she found a key that let another world open up for her. Would any of this happened if Dem had not gone to London then? The least he could do, to salve Dem's hurt -he chose to go to Elizabeth, he sank into drugs and alcohol, compelled her to leave him, he got Liza pregnant-, to salve his own hurt -Ross had now abandoned a son to his fate uncomfortably close to Papa's behaviour- was keep the home fires burning. Hugs. They left the children to their rest and Ross caught Dem up at the top of the stairs. A sort of purring. Dem murmured a content as he held her close. Dem held Ross, for he caught her up in his arms as she was about to go downstairs. She lay her head by his and closed her eyes. Ross' smile widened at her forehead. It was a moment in time that they both held dear. Ross was holding her and the children were tucked in their beds. The alien presence of so many Orange amps lined up in the hall like Doctor Who extras was set aside. The bubbling excitement of the upcoming photo shoot was set aside. Blue and Hugh and her work were set aside. This was a moment in which Ross and Dem had found their most basic existence. Ross and Dem were in Nampara again. London was just as much a home to them now but Nampara was _home_. They went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get It While You Can, Janis Joplin 1970
> 
> In this world, if you read the papers, darling  
> You know everybody's fighting on with each other  
> You got no one you can count on, dear  
> Not even your own brother
> 
> So if someone comes along  
> He's gonna give you some love and affection  
> I'd say get it while you can, yeah  
> Honey, get it while you can yeah  
> Hey, hey, get it while you can  
> Don't you turn your back on love, no, no
> 
> Don't you know when you're loving anybody, baby  
> You're taking a gamble on a little sorrow  
> But then who cares, baby  
> 'Cause we may not be here tomorrow, no
> 
> And if anybody should come along  
> He gonna give you any love and affection  
> I'd say get it while you can, yeah  
> Hey, hey, get it while you can  
> Hey, hey, get it while you can  
> Don't you turn your back on love  
> No no no, no no no no no
> 
> Oh, get it while you can  
> Honey get it when you're gonna wanna need it dear, yeah yeah  
> Hey hey, get it while you can  
> Don't you turn your back on love  
> No no no, no no no no, get it while you can yeah  
> I said hold on to somebody when you get a little lonely, dear
> 
> Hey hey, hold on to that man's heart  
> Yeah, get it, want it, hold it, need it  
> Get it, want it, need it, hold it  
> Get it while you can  
> Honey get it while you can, baby, yeah  
> Hey hey, get it while you can
> 
> "having lain with Ross it's a testament to the Chynoweth constitution that no fleas have clung to you": a take on the adage, "If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas." If you mix with people of ill repute your own reputation will suffer.
> 
> decimalization: The U.K. standardized 100 pence to a pound and abolished the shilling. In 1968 5p and 10p coins were introduced, soon after half pennies and half crowns were pulled from circulation. By 1971 the new currency and pricing launched as inflation rose worldwide. Some blamed the currency change for higher prices but that was an ongoing problem of the times anyway.
> 
> Six units marked out: Orange has written these units off on their books for tax purposes because rather than using faked empty cabinetry they are real, working amps. If they are injured in the shoot it is of no consequence to the company's coffers and if they survive the shoot Orange can just let Dem keep them.


	3. Remake/Remodel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sound and vision

"Today is the day when work becomes play."  
Demelza sat at her dressing table with her agenda book open amidst, guitar picks, errant Ladybird picture books that migrated from the children's rooms, bracelets and trinkets from her foraging in Portobello Road or little shops here and there. An old fashioned cloam mug that held wildflowers from the meadow beyond presiding over all in a froth of lacy greenery and cheerful colors. Ross frowned over her shoulder as he read what was written in the next days entry. "What is that? Did you write that?" Demelza combed her hair. "No. Hugh leaves notes in my agenda..." Ross gave a snort of a laugh. "Love notes?" This to tease. "Ross!" Demelza rolled her eyes. Ross noticed that she also blushed the barest bit and also changed the subject. "The dress came this afternoon!" Ross smiled. "Ah, yes, the mysterious box that arrived today..." Dem's smile widened. "Like to see it on then, would you?" Her excitement over the photo shoot tomorrow had reached a fever pitch with the arrival of the gown she was to be photographed in. Ross shrugged. "I'll see you in it tomorrow, there's no rush!" Dem harrumphed. Ross was clearly not as excited as she was. "I might as well wear the sacks from the barn for all you care!" Demelza lay her comb on the table and tossed her hair in mock annoyance. Ross bent forward to kiss her neck. "Am I forgiven?" She unclasped her necklace, a script 'D' in gold, and hung it on the side of the dressing table mirror. She did not speak but Ross could see her mischievous smile in the mirror as she turned her head to expose the other side of her neck. He kissed her there as well. "What about now?" He flicked the tip of his tongue in her ear. "Perhaps..." said Dem.

  
The next day, Ross looked on with morbid fascination as Hugh Armitage seemed determined to make a carnival out of Nampara. By nine in the morning there was a catering tent behind the house, an army of make up, stylist and photography assistants, the photographer, down from London and 'totally up himself', thought Ross. Caroline Penvenen, proprietess of the boutique, Eye of Horace was on hand as well keeping an eye on the proceedings. The primary outfit was the gown that arrived the day before but there was also a rack of clothes from Caroline's London shop. She and Hugh had schemed to use the Orange Amp shoot as an excuse to get a second set of pictures that showed off Demelza in some of Caroline's prettiest garments. Demelza would shoot the ad for Orange and have a portfolio of professionally shot photos under her belt by the end of the day. Jinny and Betsy were constantly allowing Jeremy and Clowance to clamber around because they were starstruck by the glamour of it all. Ross was constantly reminding them to bear the children away but it wouldn't be long before they were gawking again and the children would slip their minders. Ross finally put his foot down and told Jinny and Betsy to bring the children inside.  
Dem had disappeared to be prepared for the shoot. Ross was impatient to see what they would 'do to her'. He was not enthusiastic about her being overly made up. She rarely wore makeup and he enjoyed the naturalness of her beauty. There was something sinister about over the top glamour. Ross felt as if his wife had been seduced into pretending to be something she was not.  
Demelza, however, was having the time of her life. She was floating on a sea of compliments and attention. The crew from London kept exclaiming over how wonderful everything was. Everything was "Super!", "Terrific!" Nampara was "Gorge!" Demelza was beautiful. Her children were beautiful. Cornwall was beautiful. They just raved and raved as they scrutinized every inch of Dem and declared her "Perfect!" By 10:30 she was ready to start the shoot and, at noon, a representative from Orange Amps was due to arrive.

  
Hugh, having made a full circuit to see that all was humming along as things should go, went to find the Paynters for Demelza asked if they might see the proceedings. Hugh found the kitchen. He was charmed by Nampara. The coziness of it was wonderful. He came upon the Paynters who, he knew, looked askance at him, an urbane creature upending their calm by bringing the artifice and tricks of up country decadence into their domain. "Hello!" said Hugh. Jud looked over his newspaper. This was a very up country gent. He looked Hugh up and down. 'A bit of a fop...' thought Jud. Prudie wiped her hands dry on a teatowel and stood up straighter. "Ee lost yer way?" she asked. Prudie thought, 'There be som'ing wrong wi' wearing them dark glasses all the time. A sneaky lookin' beggar 'e is...' Hugh often smirked rather than smiled and it served to make the Paynters distrustful of him. "Not at all." said Hugh. "I was on my way to the Cove and wondered if you cared to come along to see Demelza at her shoot." Jud harrumphed. "I's leavin' that panjandle to you lot!" Hugh was amused. He'd met older servants like the Paynters at his uncle's estate. They were as charming as the house. The old guard... "Mrs. Paynter? Would you like to see? There's room in the vehicle." Prudie looked to Jud and smiled. "It would be som'ing to see our Dem like one o them models..." Hugh put out his arm, like a beau. "With your permission, Mr. Paynter." Jud gave a snort of a laugh. "Aye!" Prudie removed her apron and took Hugh's arm. 'He do look sneaky, but he be a proper gent.' she thought. As they walked through the house Hugh smiled rather than smirked. "There is a tent nearby. You can sit comfortably and have a clear view." "That's right 'andsome of ee." said Prudie feeling complimented by Hugh's escort and provision for seating her like a very important personage. Jud, satisfied that Prudie was well taken care of in this daft situation, thought he might as well give a look see through the house. All them strangers about, be certain sure none of 'em be lightfingered, make sure everything's where it should be. He turned to see the hall and parlor empty but the library door ajar. 'One o them up country blighters, lookin' fer som'ing to make off with!' thought Jud. Jud crept near, in stealth, to insure the element of surprise. He looked round the door and rather than shifty London thieves found Malcolm McNeil, sitting on the floor with Clowance on his knee and Jeremy arranging an assortment of toy cars on the carpet.

Ross had been waiting out of doors, feeling hectored out of his own home by all this silliness. He leaned against the old stone wall watching more assistants loading gear into the vehicles that were ferrying them all to the beach. He watched them bringing packing cases, amplifiers, a pirate chest full of fake jewels and coins, a huge plastic bag of fake pearls -some the size of apples. A divan covered in dark blue velvet was carried out. Garment racks, people scurrying about in all directions, this way and that. It was like watching neurotic ants working for their queen. And presiding over it all like a criminal mastermind was Hugh Armitage who flitted back and forth to the photographer, to the make up people, he often leaned in, heads bent close together conspiratorially, to speak with Caroline, his partner in crime it seemed. Ross watched Hugh as he shamelessly flirted with the younger assistants who vied for his favor with simpering giggles, with Jinny and Betsy. Wait. What? Ross called out to Jinny and Betsy as they scampered into one of the jeeps. "Where are the children?!" Jinny answered back, still standing in the jeep, "Blu, er, Malcolm is 'ere now, said 'e'd look after 'em in the 'ouse!" Jinny knew Ross did not use Malcolm's nickname. Ross' eyebrows raised as he saw Hugh escorting Prudie as if she were the queen of England. He installed her in the passenger seat next to the driver and inclined his head as he asked if she was comfortable like a suitor or a consort. 'For fuck's sake!' thought Ross. 'Hugh's even flirting with Prudie!' Hugh stood up in the jeep and called to Ross before he sat down. "Will you join us, Ross? There's room in this one!" Hugh had his eyes forever shaded with practically opaque black sunglasses. Between that and his perpetual smirk Ross found it difficult not to be distrustful of the man. Ross tilted his chin up a fraction in answer, polite answer. "I'll be down a little later." said Ross. Ross returned to the house. After their estrangement, Demelza returned from London and it took Ross a solid month to get Jeremy to stop calling Dem 'Mam' and return to calling her 'Mama'. Both Jeremy and Clowance accepted now that 'mam' was a quirk of Malcolm's speech they should not mimic, but Ross wasn't going to let Malcolm have a chance at corrupting them again.

"You's mindin' the little'uns?" asked Jud. "Aye, sir!" said Malcolm. "Jinny an' Betsy are down the beach. I were 'ere anyway, I told 'em I'd look after the bairns. They was all excitable to see the shoot." Malcolm liked the Paynters. They reminded him of the older relatives in his own family back in Scotland. Clowance was batting Malcolm's knee with her hand to keep time for own little song and Jeremy had a brace of to cars spread out in front of them and Garrick sat curled at the desk keeping clear of all the hubbub. Jud smiled. If he was honest, Jud saw a bit of himself in Dem's friend Malcolm, even if he was a Scot. He was working class and raised proper, the sort who don't put on airs and you can tell listened to his parents, raised fitty. He called him and Prudie 'sir' and 'ma'am with respect' , was a daub hand with the little'uns and Garrick too. "Ee goin' down the beach an' all?" asked Jud. "Aye, but not til Ross comes back. I ain't takin' the bairns 'less 'e know about it..." "Knows about what?" asked Ross as he entered the room. Malcolm and the children looked to Ross in the doorway and they all smiled. Garrick, who throughout all his years at Nampara had remained obstinately Demelza's dog, got slowly up to greet his master. Jud looked upon all with a quiet satisfaction. All here was fitty. Ross gave Garrick an affectionate wack on his flanks and found it hard to keep to his misgivings about Malcolm in such a scene of domestic content. "Alright then, Ross? Red's out there already? I ain't seen 'er..." "Yes," said Ross. "We can take Jeremy and Clowance later." Ross turned to Jud. "Are you coming, Jud?" Jud scowled. "I ain't. Someone belong to be keepin' an eye on them shifty Londoners. Them up country folk. Never can trust 'em! They's as like t'be pilferin' an' makin' off wi' things! I's in the 'house an' that's where I be stayin'!" Ross smiled. "As you like, Jud. It's good of you to mind things while we're out." Ross lifted Clowance up from Malcolm's lap and sat with her behind the desk. Garrick curled up underneath the desk and they spent a peaceable twenty minutes as Clowance napped with Ross' arm around her and Malcolm and Jeremy indulged in imaginary car chases and tales of spies and secret, hidden microfilm. Clowance woke with a yawn and an extra cuddle for her Papa. Ross and Malcolm readied the children, going to the bathroom, organizing Clowance, washing hands, and then they all went to see what might be nice in the catering tent. 

There were metal trays of strawberries, orange segments, scones and a wide array of biscuits and large tea urns. Quite a lot had been eaten already but there was still a fair bit to choose from. The people minding the tent doted on the children. Ross and Malcolm sat on the stone wall as they awaited their charges and sipped tea from paper cups. "It's a beautiful day for it..." said Malcolm. An understatement really. It was a gorgeously blue sky day with the sea calm and picturesque as if Mother Nature and Dem were co conspirators. Ross nodded and sipped his tea. Malcolm and Ross never showed dislike for the other. It would be wrong to say they disliked each other. Ross was always a bit ill at ease over Dem's friendship with Malcolm. Malcolm didn't have the same misgivings Ross had towards him. Malcolm could tell it wasn't personal -any man in Red's life would be viewed as trouble from Ross' perspective. Who could blame him? Red was smashing. Malcolm looked askance at Ross because Ross often made Red sad. It was clear that Ross and Red loved each other but Ross didn't half put Red through the wringer sometimes. Malcolm didn't think that was on and so they always remained behind their own fences where the other was concerned. Ross spoke, absently. "I just hope it doesn't all go to her head..." Malcolm had no reply.

Jeremy and Clowance, fueled on an array of treats and expertly divested of jam and crumbs by the staff, waved to Ross and Blue from the tent. They walked to the beach with Ross holding Clowance and Malcolm and Jeremy leaping about, pretending absurd games as they got closer to the confusion of vehicles, tents, photo umbrellas and boiling of people surrounding an area near the cliffs. As they got closer they could see Demelza talking to the man from Orange. Jeremy ran forward as Blue was brought up short, looking ahead. "Christ!" said Malcolm in awed surprise. Ross and Malcolm turned to look at each other with raised eyebrows, in agreement that they were seeing the same astonishment at Demelza's transformation. Dem was made up like a disco Aphrodite, though Ross was relieved to see that Demelza had kept the make up artist's enthusiasm within bounds. She was not as heavily made up as Ross had feared. The cosmetics were not garish. She wore a long, slim silk gown. It had a plunging neckline and the skirt was slit on both sides to show a slender stripe of her torso and legs. There were a profusion of sheer panels and scarves that floated free around the skirt from the merest breeze, obscuring and accenting her legs by turns. The dark green gown underneath was not see through but it was clear to anyone with eyes that Demelza was without undergarments. Blue was struck dumb. Red looked incredible, like a girl in the magazines! Ross was torn between wanting to drag her off and have her or throw a sheet over her. Caroline walked over to meet them. She had a merry and amused look on her face. She knew to interrupt Ross before he barreled towards Demelza and the Orange representative. "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Poldark..." began Caroline as she smiled a greeting to Clowance as well. "Do you?" said Ross still staring at what little was left to the imagination. "Yes. And I have it under good authority that mermaids do not wear knickers!" At this Malcolm gave a hearty laugh and held out his arms to take Clowance. "Come on Jer! Ross, I'll take Clo an' Jer an' you can go can go t'Red." Ross nodded and smiled as she gave him a squeeze before trading arms. She put her arms around Blue's neck. Malcolm nodded to Caroline, sort of a hello and leave taking at the same time. He pointed to one of the tents and told Ross, "We'll camp out over there..." As Malcolm led the children away to watch the proceedings Ross and Caroline got a little closer to Demelza but still not close enough for speech. Caroline continued. "Not to worry, Ross?" She presumed his first name and he nodded his assent. "The guitar conveys a great deal of modesty. These aren't X Certificate pictures, nothing rude," she might have been a guide explaining popular features to a tourist. "It's all quite tasteful. And besides, any sort of underthings would ruin the line of the gown!" Demelza caught sight of them and waved. Caroline brought Ross over. Hugh and Caroline exchanged amused glances, or Ross assumed that they did with Hugh's sunglasses being so damned dark... "May I introduce Demelza's husband, Ross Poldark." said Hugh. Ross shook hands with the Orange representative and they exchanged hellos. Ross looked to Dem. She was radiantly happy. "What do you think, Ross?" she said, cheerfully as she twirled in front of him. She had pearl drop earrings that swung from little gold chains and a strand of pearls, Ross was startled to realize that they were certainly real pearls of high quality, as an Alice band in her hair. She had a tiny gold scallop shell charm rather than her initial charm on a fine gold chain and the light sparkled on some of the links more than others for some seemed to be flatter and caught the sunlight. The sheer fabric swirled around her. She looked absolutely gorgeous. He didn't speak right away, still so bowled over by her, still a bit shocked at the long stripes of her flesh on either side. A siren indeed. Dem turned to face him and a shadow crossed her eyes. 'He doesn't like it...' she thought. "You look incredible, Dem." said Ross, warmly, "You look like a mermaid!" Hugh turned to smirk at the representative. "She looks like a siren! Siren Sound!"" Demelza's smile returned as she looked at Ross and could see approval, and lust, in his eyes. 'He does like it!' thought Dem. 

They resumed the shoot. Demelza reclined on the divan, stood posing with her Vox guitar on the rocks and then on the beach with the sea behind her. The sand was littered with fake pearls and gems and in each set up an overflowing pirate's chest of treasure sat next to a tower made up of Orange amplifiers. A huge amount of effort was taken to smooth excess footprints from the sand and make each picture look pristine. Caroline was true to her word. The guitar was strategically placed in each pose and shielded the camera from a more provocative view and while Dem's cleavage seemed ready to pop out at any minute it never did. Demelza was nude under the dress but she was taped and bound within an inch of her life by the watchful and thorough team of professionals who dressed her. The photographer was braying a constant stream of directions and compliments as he took the pictures. Out at the cliff face Dem pouted, looked imposing and regal, dreamy, come hither and, as Blue brought Jeremy and Clowance closer to watch their mam, Dem dropped all artifice and posing. She held the neck of her guitar with a lighter hand as she smiled her most radiant smile towards her children and the shutter clicks never stopped.

Ross was fascinated and a bit bored by it all at the same time. Dem looked otherworldly and the shoot, as far as Ross could see by the hysterical people around him was a success. He had asked Dwight to come today, to visit, and expected him closer to five. Ross suddenly wished Dwight had come earlier. The walls of Dem's circus were enclosed upon him. Ross could do with having one friend on his side, someone not seduced by all this frippery. After the man from Orange left, Hugh and Caroline switched gears, began styling Dem for pictures in other clothes. She'd been scrubbed clean of her mermaid makeup and looked quite herself again. Ross found these poses more appealing. The photographer was happy to continue. He had shots that were excellent today. Some of them became an integral part of his look book for clients. They shot in a cave lit with votive candles, out on the dunes with the sea behind her and even took shots with her children. By four, they started packing up to go. Demelza and Hugh went around the crew to thank them all and gave profuse thanks to the photographer. He shook their hands and told them they could see the contact sheet. He was very satisfied. There were excellent photos today.

Demelza floated through the rest of the evening in a dream. Round the table, groaning under the weight of Prudie's huge roast dinner, were Ross, Blue, Hugh, Caroline, Dwight, Jinny, Betsy and the children. All happily eating, all enjoying each others company and all different parts of Dem's world mixing together as Garrick dozed by the hearth. It was a lovely end to a lovely day. They ate cake in the parlor and played records. She sank into a corner of the sofa with Clowance in her lap and Jeremy sitting next to her, making a fuss over them both since she had been away from them most of the day. That talked and laughed and she was pleased to see Ross enjoying himself. He'd seemed uneasy throughout the day. Of course Ross was always happy to show his records to new people, play them and pass the covers back and forth. They were his pride and joy. Ross smiled at her over an album cover. They shared that smile, Dem for she could see Ross was happy and Ross because she was Dem again. The glamour and jewels and paint fallen away and his Dem had returned. He was relieved to see it. The children were spirited off to bed by Jinny and Betsy then they said their farewells and went to their parents house in Sawle. They had drinks all round and continued their spirited chatter -of records, of industry gossip, of this, of that. The guests said their goodbyes and Dem, Ross and Dwight sat in the parlor catching up on each other's news and all gently amused at Dem's triumph today. Dwight was settled into the Gatehouse and suddenly Nampara was quiet once more. The Paynters took their leave, Jud satisfied that nobody made off with anything and Prudie in a queenly mood for she'd been treated like an honored guest at the shoot and a domestic goddess for the delicious dinner she had prepared. Ross chuckled as they drove away to see Prudie so content. Hugh made certain that Prudie was given a comfortable seat in the closest tent with a clear view of Dem and had tea and refreshments brought to her by assistants from the catering tent. Hugh introduced the representative of Orange to Prudie and had her escorted her back to the house by jeep. Hugh may have made a better impression to Prudie, she seemed better inclined towards him after today. Hugh always made a point of kissing Dem's hand as he took leave of her. Ross found this absurdly old fashioned and theatrical. But Ross had to admit the contract to represent Orange Amps was a stroke of good fortune for Dem. She would receive sponsorship when she toured and they paid an eye watering amount of money for the advertisement. Hugh was eccentric but he knew his business.

Demelza had long hot bath and dressed for bed. She favored old, lace trimmed slips for her nightwear. She almost never wore them under her clothes as they were meant to be used. She was combing her hair at her mirror. Ross leaned in the doorway of the bedroom, watching. He saw the strand of pearls as well as the scallop shell charm joining her 'D' necklace hung from the dressing table mirror. Dem saw his reflection and turned to smile at him. "How did I do today, Ross? You're not too ashamed of me?" Dem smiled but she was a little nervous. Ross was not entirely happy today for all he complimented her and put up with the disruption. Ross entered the bedroom and stood near her. "Not at all ashamed of you, Dem." he smiled. "I was just a bit sorry other men would see so much of you..." He touched her chin. Dem's eyes were sparkling. She was beautiful in all ways but this is how Ross liked her best, unadorned and gorgeous in their room. And Dem felt his admiration. "They let you keep those?" Demelza turned and looked at them fondly. "Yes. The earrings and bracelets were hired but they let me keep the necklaces." Ross looked at the pearls. They were real and high quality. Deep pockets in the amplifier game it seemed. "That's quite generous, for an amp company." mused Ross. Dem allowed herself a lie of omission. Orange Amps gave her the gold charm on its chain. The pearls were given to her by Hugh. "They were that happy with the shoot, the man said they might run four separate ads rather than the two we talked about..." "Good!" said Ross a bit too brightly. "That's good..." Ross was amused by Dem's sponsorship, amazed at the expense it must have taken to mount the day's escapade, all those people, letting Dem keep the necklaces and the amps from the shoot, amused by her parroting some of what the Londoners had said. Ross, Ned and Dwight never bothered with a manager for Resurgam. Ross hadn't cared to look for one and probably would have clashed with one at every turn. Dem was well provided for and they'd not recorded any songs yet, only just begun, Ross marveled. One supposed that's what managers are for. Ross left these thoughts and smiled at Dem. She had her star turn today but she was still Dem. Thank goodness. Ross readied himself for bed, divesting himself of clothes. Dem set her comb down and sat up at the head of the bed. Ross turned to look at her, no longer a mermaid but the siren had returned as Dem subtly made it known to Ross that she was, once again, without undergarments. Ross hastened to join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remake/Remodel, Roxy Music 1972
> 
> I tried but I could not find a way  
> Looking back all I did was look away  
> Next time is the best we all know  
> But if there is no next time where to go?  
> She's the sweetest queen I've ever seen  
> (CPL593H)  
> See here she comes, see what I mean?  
> (CPL593H)  
> I could talk talk talk, talk myself to death  
> But I believe I would only waste my breath  
> Ooh show me
> 
> fop: a man who is concerned with his clothes and appearance


	4. Cheek To Cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First steps

"Aw, bollocks!" laughed Blue. Dem held her sides laughing for Blue turned too early again. They passed each other rather than walking one after the other. Malcolm turned to the instructor. "Sorry, mate! I ain't doin' it on purpose..." he turned to Hugh, seated in a metal folding chair at the mirrored wall with his agenda, smirking. "'Ere, Hugh! Why d'we 'ave to do this lark, eh? Why can't we just mime the songs proper?" Hugh stopped writing. "Because some viewers will ignore us if they see some band they don't know playing a song they don't know but they will watch two people who keep just missing each other, to see if you finally meet up." Malcolm, in a old, tatty tee shirt printed with a medallion that said "McClay's Strong Ale, Thistle Brewery, ALLOA.NB.", jeans, barefoot on the vast hardwood floor of the dance studio, arms crossed in annoyance complained again. "Well, if you're so keen why ain't you the one doin' it?!" Dem, barefoot as well in a leotard with a frilled skirt and black tights with a stirrup at the ankle rather than covering her whole foot, recovered from her laughing curious to hear the answer too. "Ha! Because if _I_ did it," he pointed to himself with his pen. "I should think it would look like I was menacing her!" chuckled Hugh. He grinned, rested his hand on the agenda book on his lap. His sunglasses glinted a strong spot of light in each lens from the lights overhead. "You must face facts, Malcolm, people will pay more attention for we shall stand out from other bands on the same program. We can accept slots on television programs without having to transport instruments. We can send gear on where it needs to be but still be able to perform elsewhere. And besides," smirked Hugh in a dry, droll manner. "You and Demelza, together, are cute as a bug's ear!" Malcolm rolled his eyes as Demelza laughed again. Malcolm uncrossed his arms and shrugged. "It's hopeless Hugh!" complained Malcolm. "I ain't gettin' it! I keep messin' it up!" Hugh waved his hand, still holding the pen and gesturing to Malcolm as if he was presenting an unassailable fact. "Malcolm," said Hugh, sounding exasperated. "This is all down to timing. YOU ARE A DRUMMER! And dare I say a talented one. You need to stop focusing on the doorways and start considering the timing of your movements. You eat, breathe and sleep rhythm, Malcolm! You'll get it!"

It was a simple and direct comment on Hugh's part with a shadow of annoyance in it on the one hand and honest admiration on the other, but it did snap the concept together in Malcolm's head a bit better when Hugh insisted that timing was key. There was marked improvement in the rest of the session and Hugh's smirk visibly changed to a smile by the end of the lesson. His bandmates were learning a routine that the old vaudeville performers, Laurel and Hardy used to do, just missing each other as they cycled through two doorways, seeking the other but thwarted each time they tried again. A skit that only needed the prop of the two doors with a wall inbetween, the uncomplicated sort of pre built set television production companies often kept on hand. Looking in vain for the other, shrugging and scratching their heads in confusion as they tried again. By the end Demelza and Malcolm put their heads round the doors happy to finally see each other. It was very charming. Hugh insisted that being able to present their songs in different ways was an important part of participating in television programs. In England, for the most part, bands simply mimed or performed their songs with their instruments or a microphone. Many European programs were variety shows with a mixture of music and entertainers like magicians or acrobats. Very often there was a live audience too and they were often middle aged, older people, not youngsters. People who expected entertainment and might not care for pop music. Being different, entertaining, was important. Hugh had every intention of conducting his U.K. plans in the continental manner he was used to in France because it would make them fit in within Europe and stand out as different in Britain. They would be ready for any situation. While Hugh declined doing the choreographed skits like Malcolm and Demelza were learning he did not shirk. Hugh and Demelza were learning to dance in the formal manner of ballroom dancing. She found it fun and he found it a pleasant challenge. He also enjoyed the necessity of partnering her and having his arms around her. Malcolm and Demelza were often arm in arm, an affectionate, casual closeness that marked their firm friendship. It was a charming aspect of their relationship and certainly not something Hugh would consider trying to emulate. He would never dream of putting his arm around Demelza or holding her hand as Malcolm did, let alone hug her. Hugh allowed himself the act of kissing Demelza's hand, a blameless salute. To cuddle about with Demelza as she permitted Malcolm to do was verboten and unimaginable to Hugh. Hugh, in learning to dance with her had achieved a double end. They were preparing for television and he had a legitimate reason to hold Demelza and be near her in a way he would not have had otherwise. Very pleasant. Hugh had a grasp of that sort of dancing in a general sense but the instructor was honing their movements and working with them both to bring an effortless, smooth look to them. Demelza and Hugh were partnered with the instructor to explain and help them understand the steps, through discussion and repetition and then brought them together to dance, still correcting and guiding them, directing them to watch themselves perform the movements in the mirror as well as focus on Demelza hitting an elegant position at various points in the routine. Hugh facilitated each pose by presenting her in tandem with a pose of his own. This was not easy but it was an absorbing challenge. They both made errors. They both had epiphanies and successes They both cycled through the different steps with the teacher explaining the different portions of each movement as the other was admonished to watch carefully and think through their part as well as studying their partner, knowing what it was meant to look like to the viewer. Malcolm sat by the mirrored wall, watching them learn, gratified that Hugh wasn't a "know it all" pushing him to do things that were hard, out of Malcolm's comfort zone and then show him up by being good at it from the first. Hugh did make mistakes with good humor and modesty, working to get things right. It was new for them all and it served to make Red and Blue appreciative of Armitage's attitude. He wasn't entirely above them in this, he was "the boss" so to speak but he was willing to learn too. He was self deprecating at times, able to laugh at himself as well. The lessons became a way to observe their manager with the chilly veil of his authority set to the side. Red and Blue came to know Hugh better this way, all working to learn new things. Demelza, who never thought to try to dance in such a formal manner came to enjoy it. Hugh smiled more, laughed more and the close proximity, their faces so close, the sure grasp of his hands as he partnered her was charming. Taking the steps one after the other until they became extensions of her. Dem sometimes set her foot in a pose as she cooked at the stove, partnered an invisible partner in the hall of the flat, explained to Garrick and the children what she learned. Ross was amused by her excitement in learning to dance. She seemed to be giving every aspect of this situation her all and enjoying it.

"Shoulders back!"

Ross straightened up as he kept his hand at Dem's waist, his arm outstretched with hers and she did her best to teach him as she was being taught. Ross and Dem danced the steps she was learning in a clunky manner for she was still learning and Ross was never comfortable trying to dance in such formality. He came up in the Mod scene full of the latest moves and party dances. He and Liza had been undisputed champions of that kind of dancing. The stilted need to be elegant and correct within this sort of dancing wasn't his cup of tea but it was a nice excuse to hold Dem and enjoy being a bit silly. Ross dipped her with a bobble and a sharp correction that they not both fall over and collapsed the lessons by leaning back at the wall and laughing in hysterics. Dem smiled and they brought their impromtu lesson to an end. Ross pecked a kiss on her hair as they parted ways within the flat, Ross off to wake Clowance from her nap, Dem playing piano for a change. All this dancing and guitarwork and singing was absorbing and fun but she did not want to get rusty on the piano. As she played she considered dancing. Considered being held as Garrick sat near watching her foot move upon the piano pedal like a meditation. Dancing with Ross just now had been a lark but it was also a lovely comfort to be near Ross that way. When partnered with the instructor Dem did not have a sense of intimacy for it was more about being taught than an embrace. Learning with Hugh, bit by bit, having to be close did feel intimate. He was part of the band and a companion in that way throughout the week, different to Malcolm who she'd known for longer. She fiddled among the sheet music to find the Italian piece Mrs. Kemp tortured her with, years gone. She had been a good teacher, never let Dem rest on her laurels, always pushed her to challenge herself even when it was difficult. She spread it on the crevice in the ledge that held it up flat against the piano. When Blue held her, that was intimate and somehow not at all. It was... What was. An aspect of their friendship she had come to enjoy. An outgrowth of his intent to "look after her" when they met. He escorted her in the street, he sat with her in a companionship that was part of a deepened friendship. Blue put his arm around her and she felt cozy and safe. Dem frowned. That thought came unbidden but it was true. Blue grounded her to a real degree and she had come to rely upon it without thinking too much about it. She felt safe with Blue near. Having grown up in a constant state of dread and terror in Illugan, feeling safe was a nice sensation. From the first, having met her at a party, Blue insisted she needed looking after for she was in London apart from her husband. He did so, and made a point of being respectful of her marriage. It happened very quickly. But it would not have happened at all if Dem hadn't felt safe with him... Something in Blue's personality allowed him to prove himself a friend very quickly and she was grateful. She hadn't had a close friend before. That they played well together cemented it and now they were working together too. When Blue held her hand or put his arm around her she felt happy and safe. When Ross held her she felt love. Strange, the meaning of contacts, thought Dem. Being held by Ross, holding Ross was entirely permissible, familiar, pleasurable, the touch of a known, loved person. Blue had become that familiar too. Ross didn't seem to mind it, Blue never gave Ross anything less than his due as her husband, always acknowledged her as a friend and Ross as her man. Dancing with Hugh was different to both Blue and Ross. There was fun to be had learning together but there was also a charge between them sometimes, an electricity in the touch. She was not imagining it. Was it a matter of knowing Hugh less? She garbled the left hand. 'Start again', thought Dem. She played the left hand part alone and then began with both hands once more. Hugh was mysterious. He was quite formal and kissed her hand when he took leave of her like a beau in an old time movie. That was intimate and strangely impersonal at the same time. Intimate because he, from the first, put his lips upon her. Impersonal because it was her hand and the custom a hang over from fairy tales or wig and powder courtiers from some Georgian era daydream. From that perspective, Hugh kissed her every time he said goodbye and occasionally when he greeted her but in such an offhand, formal way. And there was a sense of admiration and privilege towards Dem from Hugh that felt provocative. Kissing her hand was so old fashioned it seemed a harmless eccentricity, but so different to modern life it seemed forward, teasing. Hugh didn't kiss Caroline Penvenen's hand and Hugh knew her for longer. They kiss the air by their cheeks, the French way. A kiss but not a kiss. Hugh put his lips on her... She had blinked herself into the realization that she had stopped playing as she considered the three men in her life at the moment. The third, an unknown quantity, not established, like Ross. Not easy to get to know, like Blue. Polite and circumspect, but not like Blue. Blue never put his lips on her. Blue wouldn't think to kiss her, Dem's hand or otherwise. Blue would probably blush to the roots of his hair to even consider it, so determined to be polite and respectful of her marriage. Hugh kissed her skin every time her took leave of her. Kissed her hand with Ross standing right next to her, no sense that Ross should censure the greeting. It was a salute Dem accepted from Hugh from the first, fascinated by it and coming to see it as his way, a politeness towards her. He often had his eyes covered by dark glasses. Did he watch her unobserved? He smiled and seem light hearted, learning to dance, necessarily close to her. Hugh seemed different when they were dancing. A frission of something, not her imagination, but perhaps it's just not _knowing_ him...

"Dem? You want tea?" called Ross 

"Yes, Ross! Coming!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheek To Cheek, Fred Astaire 1935
> 
> Heaven, I'm in heaven  
> And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak  
> And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
> When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek
> 
> Yes, heaven, I'm in heaven  
> And the cares that hung around me through the week  
> Seems to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak  
> When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek
> 
> Oh I'd love to climb the mountain  
> Reach the highest peak  
> But it doesn't thrill me half as much  
> As dancing cheek to cheek
> 
> Oh, I'd love to go out fishing  
> In a river or a creek  
> But I don't enjoy it half as much  
> As dancing cheek to cheek
> 
> Now, mama, dance with me  
> I want my arms about you  
> The charms about you  
> Will carry me through, yes
> 
> Heaven, I'm in heaven  
> And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak  
> And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
> When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek  
> Take it Ella, swing it
> 
> Heaven, I'm in heaven  
> And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak  
> And I seem to find the happiness I seek  
> When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek


	5. So. Central Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the blue

"Come tomorrow that excuse won't avail you!" teased Ross.

Dem turned on heel to stick her tongue out at Ross as she left the lounge to Ross' chuckling. He was amused to tease Dem over being so closed mouthed over the songs she was writing with her band. He reasoned that Hugh hiring time for recording tracks meant Dem had no more excuse to keep things as close. It was good natured ribbing. Ross was curious. Dem was coming home these days full of talk, full of tales of dance lessons and the strange in insistence of her manager that she and Malcolm learn a skit that had them just missing each other in doorways till the very end. There were writing sessions and jamming, practice and Dem spoke of all these things but Ross had heard nothing of any actual music. She had been writing music and lyrics but she had not played or shown him any of it. Hugh would map out their recording schedule tomorrow and that, teased Ross, meant the songs were really real and Dem could not plead they were under construction and not ready to be heard. He kept a gentle, good natured query but he did understand that Dem might be shy of sharing things just yet. He did want to hear it though, if nothing else to stem the constant chatter of Dem explaining Hugh Armitage's orchestration of everything; Hugh said this, Hugh said that, Hugh thought this, Hugh bought that, and, and, and... Ross came up in a blues based, earlier time when the rock music business was still in it's infancy. Ross thought Hugh seemed to be rearing a hybrid musician/circus performer, not very "rock n roll" at all. But Dem was happy and the work was going well, she came home so vibrant and cheerful. Ross was content so long as Dem was and the music would be unveiled before long. As she turned to go to the kitchen she hastened for the phone started to ring. She picked up the receiver, "Hello? Poldark residence..." Ross came around the corner.

"Demi?"

Dem stood straighter and Ross frowned with sudden concern. Dem's knuckles went white as she clutched the receiver tighter and said,

"Ais!?"

She put her hand to her mouth and Ross stopped short of coming nearer to her, watching. "Demi? Its Sam." She gasped. Ross looked on in fascination as Demelza's Illugan accent returned like an apparition. "Oh, Sam! How 'ave you been?" asked Dem. "Brave, Demi but I thought it best t'call, luv. I ain't called afore now but Pa passed on last night." Ross watched Dem's face ripple, like water moving. A blank expression with widened eyes. Her mouth falling open and then bobbling open and shut like a machine malfunctioning. Staring ahead with a look that was shocked. These twists in her face that assembled into shock. Dem did not know what to say. Was she sorry Pa was dead? No. Relieved...? Sam got beat on too, and Luke. Not as much as her, but that's cold comfort when it's the switch on you... Tom Carne seemed to have a grudge against Dem for looking so like her mother. Sam had seen as much as she had in the hellscape that had been their childhood. "Oh, Sam... Oh, Sam..." Silence. "Ais, Demi. We's free of 'im..." said Sam, quietly. She nodded, mutely, but some sympathy as their position as siblings made the silence on the line understandable between them. "Th-thank you, Sam. How are the boys? Your... Your second mum treated you right?" "Ais, an' them younger don't know nothing 'bout Mum an' cootin' an' all. Pa did follow the Lord at the last, ain't done no more. Will n' John was small, so they only caught the back of 'is 'and sometimes, not the switch... The bitty two he ain't never raised a hand to..." Dem covered her eyes with her hand. "I'm glad of it Sam. I'm that glad..." "I ain't gonna press you t'come 'ome. We ain't in the old 'ouse no more. Got a good'un, years gone. I ain't gonna press you, luv. I knows..." Dem, again, nodded rather than spoke. Sam continued. "I thought you should know is all..." Dem was not crying, but her voice broke Ross' heart. "I'm so sorry, Sam... I never called... I never..." Sam shushed her. "I ain't faltin' you, Demi. Pa didn't worry the young'uns, but you, Luke an' me knowed what 'e were... I ain't faltin' you. You got away... Garrick still around?" Strangely that made Dem laugh a little. "Ais, Sam, Garrick's still brave." "That's good, Demi. I see'd you in the paper. You done us proud, girl!" "Oh, Sam..." began Dem. "We'll get together sometime," said Sam. "We'll do that Demi. I just wanted you to know 'bout Pa, luv." Ross took a step forward, not sure if Dem might faint but not wanting to crowd her. "Thank you."

Dem hung up the phone. "Pa's dead..." It felt strange to say it. Ross took another step closer. "Are you alright?" he asked. "Maybe you should sit down, Dem..." She nodded, did so. Sat at the table. She had not answered to "Demi" since she left home. _We's free of 'im..._ She had distance. So much distance that she never went back, never even spoke to her brothers. That was wicked, perhaps. She left and never looked back. She was given the education of a lady and taught music and safe. Sam said Pa had changed at the last, didn't hurt them anymore. That made her feel less guilty but it didn't lessen it all. Jeremy and Clowance did not know their uncles. They called Blue "uncle". They did not know their proper family. "Dem?" She looked at Ross suddenly. "I never even called to see how they were..." Ross could tell she meant her brothers. "Dem, he nearly killed you, he could have killed you. You can't be blamed for staying away..." She nodded. In her mind's eye, speckles of her blood fell to the floor. After a time they resumed the day. Dem was sullen, agitated, too cheerful and subdued in whiplash changes. Ross informed Jinny, not only so she knew in a general sense that Dem's father had died but to enlist her aid should Demelza become tearful, try to keep the children occupied and distracted, to give Dem space. Jinny nodded, understood and pitied Ross a bit. Jinny had looked after Jeremy when Dem spent time apart from Ross, in this house a couple of years ago. Her employers made things up but Ross seemed so removed from Dem's reality sometimes. Ross cared for Dem, plain as day, it was right to look after the little'uns but... guarding them against tears? Clowance perhaps but Jeremy? Did Ross really not know how sad Dem had been all that time they were apart? Dem rallied. Supper was prepared by her since she was home to do it. The children were read to and put to bed. Ross sat playing his Gibson in the lounge and she went up to bed before he did. When he did retire to bed it was late. He went into their room to find the bed empty, the bathroom empty. Dem was not there.

Ross looked from room to room. Dem had vanished. Garrick was gone as well. Ross turned on the kitchen light. His lead was still hanging on its peg in the kitchen. Ross turned the light out and checked on the children, each sleeping sound and then realized with great clarity where Dem was. He went to the third floor bathroom to find Garrick curled next to the bathtub and Demelza in a gauzy white slip sitting in the empty tub head lolling to the side by the tiled wall with her knees up, arms around her legs. Twenty six and so like she had been at twelve Ross' throat tightened to see her so. Tom Carne was gone but the terror he induced in Dem still lay in her blood and bones. Tom Carne was gone. Dem's mother was long gone. Dem had Ross and even he had disappointed her, hurt her. He stepped away and went to sit on the steps. Ross sat on the top step, leaned alongside the banister post and stared into the dark. There were no tears in him but he felt profoundly sad. One cannot turn clocks back. One cannot make time reverse. One cannot say, "Wait! I know now! I know better! Let me have that time back and I'll not get it wrong! I'll not fail!" One can only admit the errors, deal with life as its lived and try harder. In this house Ross stumbled upon the most important person in his life. He had been on the losing edge of his heroin addiction and Dem was a cruelly abused child. He brought her home convinced she was a boy, bathed Garrick up here and cleaned her hair of lice. He took her from her father and lived a life of happiness and friendship. Ross stared down at the landing. He'd been a mixed success as her guardian. She suffered under gossip as did he. But she grew and enjoyed music, enjoyed a life free of her father's abuse. He was a mixed success as her husband... The dim light from downstairs shone on the landing, the stark architecture of the steps obscured. Ross stared at them as the clear planes of the steps darkened by degrees into a darkened well. He dared to turn heel and abandon his marriage vow. Elizabeth. Valentine. Valentine would be eternal, living proof of his selfish disregard of Dem. They moved forward only because she had the strength to forgive him. Did he have the strength to cease wallowing in regret and be the husband Dem deserved?  
Ross stood up and went back to the bathroom. Garrick stirred. Ross knelt near her over the edge of the tub. "Dem?" Her eyes opened suddenly. She looked up, quite alert and she turned her face to him as her face crumpled into sudden tears. "Come to bed, Dem, come on..." He whispered as he helped her up and felt Garrick pace about, press against his leg, anxious to be near his mistress. "Come on, Dem..." A low keening sounded from the back of her throat and Ross held her. She stepped out of the tub as Ross leaned back at the wall and he held her close as she started to sob. Ross remained quiet. He stroked her hair, felt his shoulder moisten as she pressed her face near his neck and let her cry away many years of fear and unhappiness, of grief for her mother, guilt in leaving her brothers behind, of Julia, sadness in the cruel twists of their own marriage. Many years of intense emotions came surging through her for Demelza was not grieving her father. She was grieving every lash, every insult, every heart break in a long catalogue of heart breaks in her life. She had survived them all but it overwhelmed her now. Dem cried many tears since she left home but it seemed that "Demi" had not felt safe enough to cry and have that release until Pa was truly gone. Ross lay his cheek against her hair and whispered, "Come to bed, Dem. Come lie down, my love." He felt her nod 'yes', try to quiet herself and nod 'yes'. Garrick followed them into the bedroom, a special dispensation for he was not allowed in here. She curled on the bed and Garrick curled on the floor next to her side of the bed. Ross lay the covers over them both and spooned around her. Dem started to cry again, softly, and Ross held her. "I've got you, Dem. I've got you, baby." said Ross. "Th-thank y-you, Ross..." said Dem. She clutched his hand and they interlinked their fingers. Ross felt the softness of her breath on the back of his hand, the warmth of her back against him, the subtle movement of her breathing the small hiccups of grief catching her breath. This precious girl who became a woman before his very eyes. His woman. 

He let Dem sleep late. Ross called Hugh's office and told the receptionist that Dem would not be in. He made eggy bread for Jeremy and Clowance and scrambled eggs for Jinny as she made toast. Ross rummaged about the cabinets and found a tray. He set a plate of toast spread with jam and a cup of tea on the tray. "Mama is having a lie in." he said to the children. He turned to Jinny. "I'll be back down in a little while for Clowance..." Jinny nodded. "Dem?" Ross set the tray on the old desk and came to Dem's side of the bed, careful not to step on Garrick. "Dem, there is tea and toast, if you want it..." Demelza woke slowly, loggy from dreams that were vivid as she dreamt them but hard to remember upon waking. She blinked a bit and turned to see Ross, concerned and very near. "There's tea..." he said. She lay on her back. "Thank you, Ross. Could you call Hugh and tell him I'll be late?" Ross' eyes widened. "I had done, but I told them you wouldn't be in." Dem's eyes widened. "Oh... Well, yes... I suppose that's... Thank you, Ross." He quailed a little, Dem had no intention of skipping today and that surprised him. "I can call back, I hadn't thought..." began Ross. Dem sat up and managed a smile. Ross was looking out for her. He meant well. "I'll call..." said Dem. It was a wonderful distraction, work. Work helped. Even in a house Dem had come to love the walls oppressed Dem in her mood for the London flat had witnessed a great deal of her sadness. She set aside the fact that her children did not know their uncles. She set aside her unhappy memories and cruel injuries. She worked. Blue and Hugh noticed her subdued mood but did not pry. She did not mention her father's death until they took a break. Blue, who knew, in a general sense, that her father had been "a mean drunk" understood some of Red's dilemma. She wasn't grieving her father as much as she was coming to terms with the memory of him. "Oh, lass... I'm sorry. Ee alright?" Demelza nodded. Hugh watched them quietly. Malcolm seemed to see a fuller picture in this situation. Hugh could sense she had some sense of relief in her father's death as well as sadness. "My condolences..." said Hugh. "Thank you, Hugh." They were on the verge of recording. Studio time was booked and Hugh was determined to record four songs to start the ball rolling. To have singles released before the album was made. "Will you be away, ma fée?" asked Hugh. "Your family's in Illugan?" Demelza blinked suddenly and Blue reached to hold her hand. "No." said Demelza.

"Afterburn" was the stronger song and as such Hugh insisted it be second. "We shall hold our fire, let the public come to know you before unleashing all you can do at them." said Hugh. With gentle tact, Hugh talked through the schedule of the coming days, trying to fit Demelza's bereavement within it. It was agreed to set recording back two weeks. Thought Demelza was quite eager to press on Hugh was cautious on her behalf. Losing a parent was a heavy matter. Carving out a bit of space made sense even as he wanted to honor her wish to continue. They would continue the dancing lessons and push the studio session further back. Hugh could see she wanted something else to focus on in her grief. She agreed. The practice ground to a halt. Demelza sat on the floor by the windows. Malcolm joined her, put his arm around her and they sat, quietly. Hugh, who often gave the friendship between the drummer and the guitarist precedence, did not look to insert himself with it, tucked his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and sat on the floor next to them. With a grateful smile, Demelza took Hugh's hand at her knee, even as she still lay her head at Malcolm's shoulder and they sat like that for a time, letting Demelza process her feelings within a web of their protection. At length they stood and packed up to leave for the day. They would meet for the dance lessons and begin studio work two weeks after.

"Mama! Where you was?!" Clowance came trotting forward into the hall looking very sweet in a yellow knit dress with a Peter Pan collar with a maroon bow at the neck. "I was at practice, sweetheart!" Dem set her guitar case by the hall tree, picked up her daughter and enjoyed feeling Clowance's arms around her neck. "How's my girl?" Clowance rattled an account of her day as Jeremy came in, dark blue trousers and a green rollneck shirt and shared an encouraging smile with his mother. Mama had been quite upset in the night and it worried him. He woke and heard her crying. Jeremy did not know his grandfather but she must have loved him dearly to cry so much. "Hello, Jeremy!" She put Clowance down and knelt between the two of them. Dem looked to Jeremy and had an unsettling sensation of her son somehow seeing within her in a protective sort of gaze that sought to understand her mood. Dem let her hand rest at his hair. They watched each other as Clowance smiled without the subtle awareness of her brother. Clowance was simply happy. Jeremy's content depended on his mother's mood and, in this, Dem could satisfy him. Dem smiled to reassure him. Smiled in the happiness of having her little boy, the love and sensitivity of Jeremy's eyes upon her. He blinked a question, _Are you alright, Mama?_ Dem's smile widened. Jeremy's did too like a sunflower tracking the sun. Dem spoke aloud. "Yes, my lover. I'm alright." Jeremy hugged her as Ross entered. "How did it go?" he asked, nonchalant, trying to keep to the normalcy Dem seemed to want, encouraged by her smiling up at him so near the faces of their children. "It went well. We pushed the studio session back two weeks..." Ross nodded, thankful that Armitage hadn't persisted with the schedule. Even her manager seemed to know Dem's zeal to carry on, though admirable, was a delicate enterprise. That he met her half way relieved Ross. Dem brought her Vox into the lounge and left it by the piano. She curled up with Clowance and Jeremy on the sofa and read them a story. Jeremy read Clowance a Ladybird story and Dem smiled with pride to watch them enjoy being brother and sister. Enjoy being a family. Something that she and Ross managed to do right in spite of themselves, she thought. She in her harrowing childhood and Ross in his difficult adolescence craved family and they managed to make one for all their troubles and frailties. Jinny popped her head round to mention dinner's imminent arrival and shared a fond look. Jinny's, a look of sympathy, Dem's of gratitude. Her London life, her Cornwall life. Blessed in each for all their hard times. Tom Carne had inadvertently made her a stronger person. Dem fought for the things that she loved and worked to be a good mum, a good wife... Ross called from the kitchen. "Supper's ready!" "Coming!" called Dem. "Ooh, I'm that hungry," she looked between Clowance and Jeremy, smiles between the three of them in praise of supper and each other. "Let's wash hands..." said Dem as she shepherded them to ready for dinner and night fell over a warm, London home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Central Rain, R.E.M., 1984
> 
> Did you never call? I waited for your call  
> These rivers of suggestion are driving me away  
> The trees will bend, the cities wash away  
> The city on the river, there is a girl without a dream
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
> 
> Eastern to mountain, third party called, lines are down  
> The wise man built his words upon the rocks  
> But I'm not bound to follow suit  
> The trees will bend, the conversation's dimmed  
> Go build yourself another home, this choice isn't mine
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm sorry
> 
> Did you never call? I waited for your call  
> These rivers of suggestion are driving me away  
> The ocean sang, the conversation's dimmed  
> Go build yourself another dream, this choice isn't mine
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry  
> Hey, hey, hey, hey
> 
> Cootin'/cooting: being beaten


	6. Take Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the fold

Dem changed her mind. She did not attend the funeral but she did go back to Illugan. Still feeling guilt over "abandoning" her brothers and tentatively sure visiting them in a different house with no associations to her childhood would not upset her, she chose to have a visit. She would see her brothers as well as meet the woman Pa had married. Ross was nervous over this. He was nervous for Dem, that she not be upset and, in a somewhat uncharitable attitude, did worry that Demelza in her mixed emotions over her family might seek to bring them closer. That did not sit well with Ross even as he conceded it was Dem's right to strengthen Carne family ties if she chose. Ross was not enthusiastic over Jeremy and Clowance being yoked to Dem's side of the family. To have his children claim family from a lower class family with a unreasonable religious bent as their kin, maneuver between their life as they lived it apart from those people and suddenly have to account for them made Ross disturbed. It was not her brothers' fault their father was a villain and the man had reformed to some degree at the last. Dem was poised to be a professional musician, a "star" if that Armitage had his way. She was about to be known to the wider world, taking on a new adventure with a major label and a manager that had every expectation she would do well. Dem was enjoying herself, stretching her wings. After so many hard times and such a promising situation in her budding career did she at this stage want to be trammelled with over religious, poorly spoken, siblings? A brood of poor, ill found in-laws? Ross often had correct the children from speaking like Dem's friend Malcolm, pointing to his Scottishness rather than the true sticking point of McNeil's working class differences. "Blue" was Scottish and they were English and it didn't do to speak as Malcolm did. How much embarrassment was to be borne counseling them away from the speech of their actual blood relations? But Dem had made up her mind. She would visit with her relatives, drive on and stay overnight with the Paynters before returning to London with one more dance class before the studio work began. The night before she departed they lay in bed, not quite sleepy. A bit of nervous energy as a new unknown was eminent. Ross reiterated his support of her going, suport of her right to rebuilt a connection to her brothers but said, "But you realize that these young men might prove an embarrassment to you?" "In what way?" asked Dem. Ross explained some of the ways. "Well, yes, that may be so," she said. "So I shall have to suffer it, shan't I. And so will you." "Not to the same extent..." said Ross. They were quiet for a time. "I do want to see them, Ross. I don't know if we would become closer later but I do know I want to see them." Ross nodded and they arranged themselves to let Dem rest upon Ross chest. She closed her eyes. Dem lay upon a landscape she knew like the back of her hand. Her ear near Ross' heart, the texture of the hair that grew there. He rubbed her back, absently. He saw her back when he first brought her here. He had been astonished to see the wounds on her back. Ross had saved her. Saved her. Reared her. Loved her. Ross had been a larger than life hero to Dem, when she was younger. Time and tide had leveled things between them. He was brought down to earth a bit more as they met challenges in their married life. Ross had become a bit more ordinary and his glamour dimmed or Dem's maturity changed her attitude but love remained. It ebbed and flowed but it was a constant that they both came to rely upon. Even as things went wrong, when troubles plagued them, when issues arose, there was still love between them. "I hope everything goes well, Dem. I really do." said Ross. Dem did not answer but he felt her snuggle nearer and he closed his eyes in a sudden feeling of comfort.

She hired a car. Dem didn't want to tie up their vehicle but she also wanted the remove. A car that was not hers, a house that was not hers, returning home as her brothers knew it rather than the past and not carrying any of it back to her own world. When Dem first met Verity, Ross' cousin, she let her borrow a book of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Dem had the sensation of entering a different world within the "real" one. She would be family, and not. She would be a stranger, and not. She would enter new territory and old memories. Something in Pa dying made it necessary to her. She had no dread hanging over her. It was a weight over her she had not felt until it had suddenly left her. That was a freedom she did not know was possible. Even grown, married, Dem had not consciously understood herself to have a primal nervous fear that Pa might seek to hurt her once more until she was told he was dead. She felt it. Dem felt that freedom as a sudden absence of fear. Sam seemed to acknowledge that too. Pa was, truly, unable to hurt them anymore. Dem left them. They had not seen each other or had speech with each other since 1964. She never believed Pa would seek her out since she left home but Dem did feel that moment. The moment of knowing she was truly safe. It was joy and horror simultaneously for realizing how large this absent man loomed within her, had kept his grip upon her was frightening to consider. She also felt her sibling bond with Sam in that moment. They both knew. She had been so removed from her brothers the acknowledgement that Sam had suffered too, that Sam knew the same cruelty made her feel a sharp pang of guilt. Guilt that she left her brothers and found her own safe harbor. Never looked back...

"Demi!"

Dem waved as she shut the car door. She noticed the twitch of the curtains of the neighbors houses in her peripheral vision, the flash of a slice of darkness at the corners of the front windows down the lane. The Carne girl, the one in the papers... Sam grinned, and as he was older, looked enough like Pa to be startling but tempered by Mummy's smile. Dem blinked back a bit of surprise at thinking "Mummy" reflexively in her head. She walked the short walk to the door and the crowd of Carnes who smiled encouragingly towards her as Nellie, her stepmother came forward to take her hand. "Welcome, child. It's a true blessing to bring Tom's lost lamb back into the fold." Dem nodded, having steeled herself for the woman's religiosity as well as the fact that Sam warned Dem that their stepmother was not aware of the abuse their mother and the older children bore. Dem wore a plain blue dress with a bit of embroidery at the belt rather than around the collar or cuffs over black tights and her black ballet flats. Her 'D' charm and the little gold scallop shell sitting close together on their gold chains at her neck. Not fancy, not so casual. Just right. Nellie wore a beige skirt and a blouse near the same color with flat soled brown shoes and a modest strand of pearls. Not casual, not so fancy. Just right. Her brothers ran the gamut from jeans to a boiler suit for John would have to go on shift soon. And they ceased to entertain the neighbors for they all went in the little house.

It was cozy and certainly a better house than Dem had lived in when she was a child. There were no sinister splotches of damp at the ceiling. There were no sinister splotches of blood in random places, nor the bleached, discordant spots where bleach had done too good a job at lifting stains... This in a quick dart of Demelza's eyes, all round. The sure gaze of stealth in a girl who knew where to look from experience. She smiled once more and stopped herself saying "Judas" as she suspected it wouldn't be received well by stepmother Nellie. "You all are grown!" and hugs ensued. "Luke an' 'is missus are on the way 'ere." said Nellie. "'E's 'ome from the navy!" Dem blinked in surprise but it wasn't such a surprise. Even at fourteen Luke insisted he would leave Illugan all together. There were family pictures, even one of her staring out at Dem from a discolored snapshot, tinged faintly green, with the blank, despairing look of an eleven year old hostage. There were uplifting quotes of scripture printed on round and oval plaques that hung from round metal hangers like the knob on a pocket watch. One could not fall too far away from salvation in this house. Other than the Radio Times the only other reading material laying about were church newsletters and pamphlets. There were enough crocheted blankets draped over chairs and couches they might wrap around the whole house twice should they lay end to end. There was not silence. There were too many brothers to stay silent and no awkwardness for Dem was so long away the temptation to chatter at her as if she never left was easily indulged. They squashed themselves in the front room with "pigs in blankets", cocktail sausages wrapped in cheese scone dough and fizzy drinks from the milk round, cherryade and dandelion and burdock. Dem had been nervous but it seemed as Sam said. They did not bear hard feelings against her. Nellie was polite and let her brothers keep up the talk. Dem noticed her stepmother watching her. Watching as she talked to her brothers. A need to avoid her eyes as Dem looked about talking. She felt under a microscope. The door was heard opening and footsteps in the hall. "Alright, Demi?" Luke, civilian clad, and Jane a trim, blond girl in a yellow dress with puffy sleeves that buttoned at the wrist like a juggler came in. Dem looked at him, smiling a half smile, the sort of world weariness he had young still there. She stood and gave him a hug. It seemed silly to deprive her sister in law of a hug so they did. Luke leaned against the wall as his wife made her greetings (a bit chilly towards Nellie, Dem noticed) and sat in a chair Will stood up from and then sat on its crochet blanketed arm. Dem talked of Ross and Jeremy and Clowance. Mentioned working on music and learning to dance. Nellie's lips seemed to purse into a tight little button at these things. "Did ya see about the neighborhood, Demi?" asked Luke's wife. "You ain't been about 'ere?" Dem shook her head. "No, I don't know around here..." Jane very smoothly suggested that Sam and Luke walk their sister about, show her the neighborhood while they clear up the snacks and come back ready for tea and biscuits. Nellie seemed irritated by this but unwilling to countermand it. It made sense. Three people removed made for less crawling over everyone. Dem looked to Luke who's smile widened. His wife, who knew of Tom Carne's handiwork on her husband's back, was keen to insure a "proper" reunion. Time apart from Nellie's bible thumping and the need to pretend her husband was less problematic than he was. "Ais, Jane, that's of it, proper job." said Luke. "We'll pull ourselves out the way..." With a timid smile, for Dem could see a little war between the stepmother and Luke's wife. "Back in a bit, Ma..." said Luke.

They, unthinkingly, walked in birth order like they would sometimes to go to the corner store when they were small. This neighborhood was a step up from their first home but still quite working class. Airs enough to have lace curtains and common enough to spy from them in their twitched corners. "She flick 'oly water on you yet?" asked Luke. Sam snickered. Dem smiled. "Do I need it?" With a snort Luke said, "Ais, you's a right old sinner! Nellie's 'ad a bee in 'er bonnet over you Poldarks 'an your devil music!" Dem's mouth fell open as Sam and Luke became nearly sick with hysterics, laughing so much that Dem couldn't help but laugh too. "Does she really think that?!" asked Dem. Rather than answer, Sam smiled warmly. "Aw, Demi, you's a sight for sore eyes girl!" and they walked along more, Dem smiling a bashful, happy smile. They didn't have hard feelings. She could see it. She could feel it. Her brothers did not feel abandoned by her, they were just happy to see her again. Luke pointed ahead. "That's the the playground, Dem. They got swings, c'mon!" They entered the playground. It was shabby and the only other person seemed a vagrant. They each sat on a swing, not to use it for they were too big for them really, but they sat. A club. The Tom Carne Was A Rat Bastard Club. A select membership of the oldest born children of his first wife. They wavered on the swings, seated but unable to sit still. Rocking a bit without direct intention. "Nellie thinks I'm a sinner?" asked Dem, amused. Sam nodded. "She ain't easy goin' but that's why Pa got straight. She's big on God an' that means she's big on stampin' out 'sin'..." Luke rolled his eyes. "She don't know," Pa was dead, the tense was wrong. "She didn't know what 'e done, not really. He played it off like it was just the drink, didn't give no 'int 'e be beatin' the shite outta we," he glowered at the ground. "an' Mum..." They were quiet for a time. "Do you like the navy, Luke?" asked Dem. He smiled. "Yeah, it's alright. You gonna be a pop star?" Dem giggled. "Maybe!" Sam piped up. "Your man good to ya, Demi? He ain't slippin'?" Dem blinked a little, a surprise, but much of their story had been fodder for the papers and "Thy Sweetness" was seen by most as Ross apologizing for drink, a tidied up narrative. "Yes, Ross is good to me. He stopped that drinking... No slipping." That seemed to satisfy both of them. "You ready t'go back? She might 'ave a priest waitin' t'have an exorcism!" Luke and Sam started howling again with laughter. Dem was charmed, found it funny but also disturbing. "She really thinks our music is evil? That Ross and I are evil?!" Sam shrugged. "She says these things so she must believe 'em. I wouldn't say any a'we think like she do, Dem, but them younger don't know Pa like we do so they can take it a bit more, understand 'er like. Me an' Luke's too fulla real life t'be thinkin' music be a path to Satan or whatnot," Dem's mouth fell open. It seemed to be such a silly idea. And Nellie had been married to a man who had been a violent abuser. That Dem would be godless and Tom Carne a sainted memory of a grieving widow was bizarre. "One thing I will say," said Luke in seriousness, "Is 'e did right at the end. I can't forgive like, for me, for us three, for Mum," he looked between them. "But 'e ain't touched the liquor since 'e got with ol' Nellie an' didn't do no beatin' from then on." Sam nodded. Thus, the inaugural meeting of the Tom Carne Was A Rat Bastard Club in a playground swing set in Illugan was adjourned.

"Tha be Dem?" Jud looked out the window. Dem could see the curtain move aside and she smiled as she parked. "Aye." said Jud who moved to open the door. Prudie stood at the front step and made a quick appraisal as Dem left the car. Dem had on a nice dress without being too posh, looked satisfied from her visit with her family, not upset and happy to have gotten to Sawle before sunset. The sure gaze of stealth from a woman who knew where to look from experience. She called with a smile from the doorway. "Ee be just in time for a dish of tea!" Jud shut the car door and shared a bolstering smile with Dem. She seemed alright, not troubled by returning to her family and happy to return to her "family". "Ee came from Illugan in one piece then?" asked Jud, looking over the rental car and seemingly impressed by it. Dem smiled.

"Ais."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take Me Back, Siouxsie And The Banshees 1984
> 
> Deep in the heart  
> Of a seething beast  
> Think of bright lights  
> A splendid feast  
> But something's missing  
> She's feeling low  
> Something's missing  
> She's going home
> 
> Take me back -- I'm feeling low  
> Take me back -- I'm going home  
> Take me back -- I'm so alone  
> Take me back -- I'm traveling home
> 
> Suspicious stranger  
> There's something wrong  
> She is changed  
> Ah but this is not  
> She is back  
> But she's not home  
> She is back  
> But she's still alone
> 
> She came back after all this time  
> She came back to warning signs  
> All is black when the lights are on  
> Nothing rhymes its been so long  
> It's been so long
> 
> Deep in the heart  
> Of a seething beast  
> Think of bright lights  
> A splendid feast  
> Where you arrive  
> Can be home  
> Where you come from  
> Isn't always home
> 
> Take me back -- I'm coming home  
> Take me back -- where I belong  
> Take me back -- I'm leaving home  
> Take me back -- I'm coming home
> 
> fizzy drinks from the milk round: you could order soft drinks along with your milk from the milkman


	7. Where The Wild Roses Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eye of the beholder

"Alright, Jill?"  
"I'm brave, thank you, Malcolm! Good morning, Dem!" said Jill, brightly and with the shiver of happiness being on a first name basis with her boss' clients. "Morning, Jill! Is he in?" asked Dem. Jill relaxed into 'I'm speaking about my employer' position. A subtle straightening of her back and her hands crossed in front of her on the desk. "Mr. Armitage is delayed but you can wait in his office, he won't be too much longer." Malcolm nodded, "Ta, love!" Jill nodded back and he and Demelza walked through to await Hugh's arrival. Entering Hugh's office was a bit like entering a sort of temple. Light shone upwards from large brass lamps on the floor, the carpet was blue and gold. The wall sized glass windows framed an enviable view of London and behind Hugh's desk a wall of books sat at the ready. Books about art, books of fairy stories and old titles that were clearly the sort of serious books from serious antiquarian dealers as well as Hugh's beloved back issues of Du Magazine. Blue stood at the window and gazed out over the city. Demelza perused Hugh's books. He had the same Coloured Fairy Books that were in the library at Nampara and many old books. A row of old, yellow bound books sat above the fairy books and Dem plucked one out to see what sort of book it was. Malcolm turned from the window because the room was quiet enough he heard Red's sudden gasp. "Eh...?" Blue blinked in surprise. It was clear on her face whatever it was had shocked her. Red looked astonished. "What's t'do, Red? Ee look like you seen a ghost!" He came to see. "Christ... What's that, then?!" Red was at a loss to say. This was either art or pornography or both. The book was open to a painting of a woman, blindfolded, wearing black heeled shoes and stockings held up with ribbons, naked save a wider ribbon tied under her bare breasts. She wore a portrait hat and jewels. She wore long black gloves. She was walking a pig on a lead and three cupids were hovering in the sky. It was a bizarre picture. Blue and Red looked at it in surprise for the books on the shelves seemed so unobtrusive otherwise. The fairy tales underneath, the books of proper art and graphic design, gave no suggestion that there might be dodgy books too. "A bit of a dark horse, our Hugh..." joked Malcolm. Dem turned the page. "Fuckin' hell!" exclaimed Blue, eyes widening. After they both viewed some other examples Dem shut the book. "That's what I get for snooping..." joked Red with a tittery, nervous laugh. The woman with the pig was wholesome compared to some of the others. Blue was of two minds. 'Plenty of blokes keep dirty books or girly magazines about. Hugh was the sort of bloke who liked art an' that. Stands to reason his sort of totty would be artistic. Fair enough. On the other hand, them pictures was weird!' The door opened and Hugh entered. Hansel and Gretel were standing by his side of the desk. "Good morning!" said Hugh. "Mornin', Hugh," said Malcolm. Demelza smiled, wanly. "Good morning, Hugh," Hugh's gaze, obscured by his sunglasses, fell to the book, closed, in Demelza's hands. He could see them both a bit startled looking. "Well, well... That's got you both a morsel wide eyed..." teased Hugh. A quick scan of the shelf beyond his bandmates gave Hugh a rough idea as to why. "Ah! Found the Rops, did you? Do you know him? He was Belgian..." Hugh schooled his face for Malcolm and Demelza shook their heads 'no' in tandem and looked discomfited. The temptation to laugh was strong. "Not to your taste, I take it?" asked Hugh as he removed his coat, deeply amused. So used to seeing Hugh in his dark glasses, other aspects of his features became easier for Malcolm and Demezla to decipher. His smirk had a twist within it. He could see the book had put them ill at ease. Having been a connoisseur of various styles of art and not in the least embarrassed over them coming across this book, Hugh was amused at them both looking like they'd been caught with their hand in a cookie jar, disturbed to be confronted with the wrong sort of sweets inside and disquieted over discovering a darker aspect of their manager's taste. He was trying not to laugh. Hugh seemed to enjoy that an artist he favored lent a hint of something sinister to his own personality, had become a facet of new information about him for them both. They looked at each other, not wanting to seem as prudish as they actually felt. Malcolm could sense that Dem was loathe to comment. Nodded. Not for the first time was Hugh fascinated by watching Malcolm and Demelza communicating in silence. "Well," Malcolm cleared his throat. "They's a bit mad, Hugh..." said Malcolm trying to be diplomatic. "Ha! I suppose you're correct, Malcolm. The Decadents were called decadent for a good reason!" Hugh hung up his coat with a small chuckle. "Sex and death!" said Hugh in an amused tone. "At the end of the day, it all comes down sex and death..." Hugh gestured them to sit down as he approached the desk. "And Rops' works were often Memento Mori with a difference! Ha!" Dem restored the book to the shelf and sat next to Malcolm, across the desk from Hugh. They turned their attention to other concerns. "Think Again" was a proper single, a Trojan horse to stand or fall in innocence among the other songs vying to be heard as "Afterburn" waited in the wings. "They shall land on your doorsteps like the evening papers!" smiled Hugh. Twelve bright and shiny 45rpm singles would grace Red and Blue's post and proof that they were Warner Records recording artists in truth. All three smiled a satisfaction. It was happening!

Inside Demelza Poldark's Colour Box

Demelza Poldark's rehearsal studio is set among one of the poshest postcodes I've had cause to enter. A very no nonsense doorman looks me up and down like a Holloway escapee and, grudging, admits me upstairs. Once on the second floor I spy a door ajar at the end of the corridor and the stone silence around me bursts apart as Demelza starts laughing. Having knocked on the door I am greeted by Demelza and her drummer, Malcolm who look like two students who took over a mansion for a squat. Having said our hellos, Hugh Armitage arrives and it all clicks into place. Demelza's manager doesn't look like the sort to rehearse just anywhere.

D.P.: "We used to jam together, quite a lot, Blue and me..."

Interviewer: "Blue?"

Demelza's smile might have enough energy to light up a city.

D.P.: "Malcolm. We would mess about, him on drums and me on guitar. He kept at me to do something "proper".

So this caper is Malcolm's doing?

M. McN: "Red plays guitar like a bloke. Ain't no way she shouldn't make a record! I kep'at 'er til she said yes!"

I look between them.

Interviewer: "So she's 'red' and your 'blue'?"

M. McN: "Aye!"

One had to ask, I turned to Hugh seated in a chair next to his bandmates still sprawled on the carpet.

Interviewer: "So does that make you 'yellow'?"

Hugh laughs, the way only a toff can, as 'Red' and 'Blue' laugh like a drain.

H.A.: "I am the bass player, the conduit between them, so I should think that makes me 'Purple'..."

Hugh was less happy with this article. The woman had seemed pleasant enough in conversation but there was a shading of judgement in this piece. There was a over emphasis on Hugh being "posh" against Demelza and Malcolm being "common". A whiff of a suggestion that Hansel and Gretel were being lead around by his rarified taste. That he was an appendage rather than a proper member of the group and they were creatures of Hugh's whims, not musicians who knew their own mind. One cannot control the media. One can try to guide it, though. Hugh did not consider the fact that a journalist would look askance at the portion of London were they practiced. So used to being in France Hugh had forgotten how class bound England was for he lived his entire life up on the higher rungs. What Hugh saw as suitable in the rehearsal space he chose, a well managed place that was favored by classical musicians, the writer saw as preciously affected and "too posh". Hugh also disliked the suggestion that he was the odd man out even as he was the bass player. He had not expected to crave legitimacy in that way. He had half a mind to rehearse other bassists and keep to his management role. But Malcolm and Demelza would not hear of it. They reiterated their desire to have him play bass even though both of them were markedly better musicians than he was. They saw him as a third member from the outset. He was starting to _want_ to be the third member. That was much different to his previous projects. As they worked and spent more time together he did start to feel that they were a trio in truth. Hugh was as proud of their single as Malcolm and Demelza as well as feeling happy to see them excited over it. It was easy to be jaded in management. Hugh had lost count of the releases he'd worked on. He always enjoyed seeing the artists excited over their records coming out but his was the first one he could point to as his own. A new sensation. He thought about their band. Playing live made more sense but Hugh was frightened of a standard tour, slogging to different venues throughout the U.K. It didn't suit what they were doing. He wasn't sure he had the stamina to do that anyway. He made a note in his agenda to have Jill acquire the festival schedules in the U.K. and a smattering of European countries. He had to think things through. Demelza and Malcolm did rely on his judgement and expertise to make this experiment work. He would not fail them. That was less leading them about like a svengali than being a proper, responsible manager and member of the group. This writer seemed to see it as tyranny but what does she know...?

She walks as peerless Dian rides

In moonlight and rain

As sea-bird gently windward flies

O'er wave and watery main.

Thus heavenly light and earthly tides

Combine in her as twain.

She smiles as sunrise on the wave

In summer and at dawn,

As daylight enters darkling cave

To bring the breath of morn

Thus day and night in joy behave

With ardor newly born.

She walks like air and smiles like light

'Mong sinners yet unshriven,

But one among them knows his plight

Excluded yet from Heaven.

"What is _that?_ Is that a song?" asked Ross peering at Dem's agenda. Dem chuckled. "Hugh left me a poem. He said he wanted to make up for giving me a shock today by leaving me something beautiful." Ross knit his brows. "A shock? What happened?" She giggled and it put Ross at ease, he wasn't sure what happened but it did not seem serious to her. "Blue and I were waiting in his office and I took a book off a shelf that had... Odd looking art in it. Have you heard of an artist called Rops?" Ross shook his head. "No. Mama had art books around but I never paid much attention..." Dem nodded. "This artist painted some weird things. Malcolm and I were looking at it when Hugh arrived..." Ross raised his eyebrows. "They were shocking?" Dem nodded. "You know what the shrims are?" asked Dem. Ross nodded. "They gave me the shrims. Hugh found it funny but he apologized later and left that poem there." said Dem. "Funny?" asked Ross. Dem shrugged. "He was used to it and we weren't. He didn't laugh but you could see he wanted to. He thought it was funny that we were surprised by it. Hugh said it was 'decadent art'". said Dem. "And he keeps it close at hand...?" asked Ross with an edge of disapproval in his voice. Dem smiled again. "He has a lot of art books. Hugh just sees it as art. Others must too, they are the sort of old books folk pay a lot of money for." Ross smirked. "What did Malcolm think of them? Did Hugh write him a poem too?" Ross snickered as Dem gave him a reproachful look. "Blue thought they were weird too. He doesn't keep an agenda!" smiled Dem. Ross stopped teasing. The way Hugh wrote in her agenda seemed harmless but it did bring to mind something Hugh had said, offhand, when speaking to Ross that struck him as offputting. Hugh refered to the different women he worked with in France as "his ladies". The casual way he said it made Ross think that Hugh felt he did own them in a way, not just working to further their aims. Writing in Dem's book when the whim took him, not feeling the need for her permission. It didn't sit well with Ross but he knew it would look churlish to make complaint over it. The habit was part of their working together and he was her manager as well as in the band. "You keep saying they were 'weird'. What was wrong with them?" asked Ross. Dem frowned a bit, thinking back on the images she and Blue had seen. "They..." she thought it through. "They were almost like story book pictures. They were near the Coloured Fairy Books on the shelf. I think I opened the book expecting it to be a fairy story too. They were pornography, really, but with angels and devils and things, skeletons, half dressed women, naked women... They were almost pretty until you really looked at what was happening in them." Ross began undressing, looked amused and incredulous as he readied for bed. "So Hugh said, haha, he said, 'Come up and see my etchings?'" said Ross, sniggering over his own joke as he said it as he tossed his shirt aside. Dem laughed out loud. "No! No! No! Blue and I were snooping, or killing time. We brought it on ourselves!" Dem chuckled and added, "I don't think Hugh would have suggested it to either of us if Blue or I asked for a book recommendation!" Ross got into bed and Dem followed. "So," teased Ross as they settled closer together. "The goings on in that book were not to your taste, madame?" There was a pause. Ross' eyebrows went up. "Oh?!" asked Ross with an amused smile. Dem giggled. "I never thought to use a blindfold..." Ross lay on his side, facing her, whispering near her ear. "Is that a fact...?" Dem smiled enough she had to work to talk properly. "Do we have a blindfold?" asked Dem. Ross chuckled. Came near to kiss her. "I'm sure we could devise something." said Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where The Wild Roses Grow, Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue 1996
> 
> They call me the wild rose  
> But my name was Elisa Day  
> Why they call me it I do not know  
> For my name was Elisa Day
> 
> From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one  
> She stared in my eyes and smiled  
> For her lips were the color of the roses  
> That grew down the river, all bloody and wild
> 
> When he knocked on my door and entered the room  
> My trembling subsided in his sure embrace  
> He would be my first man, and with a careful hand  
> He wiped at the tears that ran down my face
> 
> They call me the wild rose  
> But my name was Elisa Day  
> Why they call me that I do not know?  
> For my name was Elisa day
> 
> On the second day I brought her a flower  
> She was more beautiful than any woman I've seen  
> I said, "Do you know, where the wild roses grow  
> So sweet and scarlet and free?"
> 
> On the second day he came with a single red rose  
> He said "Give me your loss and your sorrow?"  
> I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed  
> If I show you the roses will you follow alone
> 
> They call me the wild rose  
> But my name was Elisa Day  
> Why they call me that I do not know  
> For my name was Elisa Day
> 
> On the third day he took me to the river  
> He showed me the roses and we kissed  
> And the last thing I heard was a muttered word  
> As he knelt above me with a rock in his fist
> 
> On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow  
> She lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief  
> And I kissed her goodbye, said "All beauty must die"  
> And I knelt down and planted a rose between her teeth
> 
> They call me the wild rose  
> But my name is Elisa Day  
> Why they call me it I do not know  
> For my name is Elisa Day  
> My name was Elisa Day  
> For my name was Elisa Day
> 
> Ta: Thank you
> 
> Pornokratès, La dame au cochon, Félicien Victor Joseph Rops 1878
> 
> totty: attractive woman
> 
> Memento mori: an object serving as a warning or reminder of death, such as a skull.
> 
> like a Holloway escapee: HM Prison Holloway, a London jail incarcerating women and young offenders in use from 1852 to 2016
> 
> Svengali: a person who exercises a controlling or mesmeric influence on another, especially for a sinister purpose. Svengali is a character in the 1894 novel Trilby by George du Maurier. Svengali is a man who seduces, dominates, and exploits Trilby, a young Irish girl, and makes her into a famous singer.
> 
> Come up and see my etchings: an old fashioned, hackneyed "come on" line to get a woman upstairs and unobserved for a tryst.


	8. Simmer Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working class, gentry clash

Ross brought Dem back from her voice lesson to find Malcolm had already arrived at the flat. He and Jeremy already had cars all over the carpet of the lounge. Dem suggested that Malcolm, Jinny and Betsy go on ahead and take the children to the park and she and Ross would walk Garrick and meet them there. Malcolm had been Garrick's dogwalker when he first met Dem. Garrick was not getting enough exercise for his size at that time. Now the dog took things a bit slower, still able to leap and play when mood struck him but more often being content to walk at leisure and spend quiet time at home being restful. Dem liked to walk him when she was home to do it. The gentle mutt was her long time companion and she wanted to return his loyalty as he grew older. Ross had the lead this afternoon. They enjoyed walking side by side and Garrick trotting next to them. When Ross first happened upon Dem, dressed in her brother's clothes, they had gone out to the old cafe that became Chinese takeaway a couple years ago. Went out to have breakfast for Ross was too idle and drug addled to want to cook his own meals. She was young enough Ross took her to the playground and minded Garrick, faintly amazed that Dem could use the climbing frame with her back still healing. She hung upside down and grinned at him. Well, time had passed. Ross was as domesticated as you pleased in their London life, rustling up breakfast in the morning, looking after the children, albeit with help. He had changed a bit since '64. Dem had changed a bit since '64. Garrick had changed as well, growing into a distinguished old age. There was a shadow of all three of their former selves when he and Dem walked with Garrick that made Ross contented to think on. They had improved to some degree. Ross had his ups and downs but settled back into sobriety. Dem went to Hempel School and became a musician. The clouds that had kept a cool chill to the day evaporated and moved on. The sun was suddenly quite warm. Ross could feel the warmth of the climbing sun on his hair and open neck. Natural enough that in the old days men were sun worshipers; especially in England, where the sun was elusive and fitful and always welcome, in a land of mists and clouds and drifting rain. The day had changed for the better, if a bit warm. They entered the park, past that playground were Ross brought Dem when they first met. This was more formal and grand with landscaped grounds and a river near, more room to let more citizens enjoy the great outdoors in their fair city. "I see them, just over there!" said Dem. They were in view and they would make up the distance between them soon. Betsy pushed the empty pushchair lagging a bit behind the others Jinny and Jeremy, skipping about at her side animatedly telling her something that made him laugh, were walking along somewhat behind Malcolm and Clowance. Malcolm waved and came up the walk to meet them with Clowance in his arms. Even with the distance between Ross and the others he could see Malcolm was regaling Clowance with some sort of joke or story as he carried her, heads together in some little conspiracy. Ross sighed. Ross remained vigilant in stripping Malcolm's vocabulary away from Jeremy and Clowance's speech. The Scot was careful of swearing. It was not rude language Ross hammered out of his children it was the poor grammar and Scottish slang Malcolm's frequency of interaction imprinted on them sometimes. Since the sun had gotten stronger one of Blue's handkerchiefs had its four corners knotted and was placed on her head as a makeshift hat. Ross saw the handkerchief on Clowance's head and rolled his eyes in irritation. It was a common sort of thing to wear a hankie knotted against the sun, a lower class sort of look. Standing at Garrick and Ross' side, Dem's eyes softened. One of the few pictures in her father's house of her mother was of Dem being held in Mum's arms as a toddler with a handkerchief on her head, knotted the same way, sitting on the beach. She smiled as they came near but Ross muttered, a little too loud, "Oh for fuck's sake, he'll have her singing 'Knees Up Mother Brown' next!" Malcolm knit his brows. He had heard Ross' comment even as Ross hadn't meant that to be so. Ordinary easy going, being looked down upon for being working class was a sure fire way to make Blue defensive. Dem turned to Ross with a look of astonishment. Sometimes Ross was caustic in a half serious, half comic way she had come to know and understand. This was totally different. Ross never said anything so snobbish, so sneering before. The knotted hankie offended him, irritated him but it wasn't that alone. He had taken a swipe at Blue. Malcolm's jaw set briefly. He'd not argue with Red's husband, Clo n' Jer's da. He'd not let it slide though. Working class and won't stoop to pretend no other. "Aye. That's a good ol' chestnut, eh?" He said to Ross and turned to smile at Clowance. "Will ee dance wi' me, Clo?" asked Boo, smiling. Clowance nodded happily as Malcolm took her hand like a dance partner. Jinny and Jeremy caught up as Betsy wheeled Clowance's pushchair nearer. Malcolm stepped back further on the grass and danced Clowance on his hip as if she was his height on the dancefloor. Danced her on the grass and sang,

Knees up Mother Brown

Knees up Mother Brown

Under the table you must go

Ee-aye, Ee-aye, Ee-aye-oh

If I catch you bending

I'll saw your legs right off

Knees up, knees up

Never get the breeze up

Knees up Mother Brown

Jinny and Betsy laughed out loud. Betsy trotted forward to bring the pushchair nearer, leave it and begin to clap her hands in time. Jinny joined in clapping as she came forward and Jeremy clapped too not because he knew the song but Jinny and Blue were always at their best when they bounced off each other in good humor. Jinny was wearing jeans but she mimicked swishing invisible skirts with her hands as she faced Blue and Clowance singing along and doing the "knees up dance", a bit like the French Can-Can girls but marching in place, not kicking the legs out.

Knees up Mother Brown

Knees up Mother Brown

Under the table you must go

Ee-aye, Ee-aye, Ee-aye-oh

If I catch you bending

I'll saw your legs right off

Knees up, knees up

Never get the breeze up

Knees up Mother Brown

Clowance giggled dancing with Boo and everyone singing and clapping. Jeremy laughed and laughed at Betsy, Jinny and Blue singing such a strange and silly song, all of them delighted to clap and dance and sing about sawing someone's legs off. Malcolm spun Clowance gently and turned to face Ross, smiled at Clowance warmly but, facing Ross' direction, became stony and serious. Jinny, Betsy and Jeremy were now skipping around them, oblivious to Blue's change in temperament, Clowance also, entertained by the other's happy prancing and not seeing Malcolm's stern gaze at her Papa. Both the Martin girls kept singing along cheerfully as Malcolm sang the end of the song,

Oh my, what a rotten song

What a rotten song

What a rotten song

Oh my, what a rotten song

Here Blue tilted his chin a fraction. Ross and Malcolm watched each other as Blue sang

And what a rotten singer too!

The irritation in Malcolm at Ross' jibe had evaporated as he smiled at Clowance again and accepted the wild applause of Jinny, Betsy and Jeremy with a wonky looking curtsy, Clowance still on his arm and pulling at his jeans pocket as if it was a lady's skirt. He stood up straight and tugged his forelock at Ross for good measure, a last nose tweak, and not interacting with Red at all. Ross was her man, and Malcolm would not seek her out in this display of annoyance. It was strictly between him and Ross. Blue would not put Red in a position to mediate between him and Ross. The girls' enthusiasm lightened Blue's annoyance. They were as sentimental over "Knees Up Mother Brown" as he was. Jinny and Betsy were working class too. "What brought that on!?" laughed Jinny. Betsy said excitedly, "Gramfer an' Gran sing that!" as Jinny nodded with a grin. "My Grandda n' Nan an' all," smiled Blue. "Ross mentioned it..." he added in an even tempered voice. Betsy took Clowance from Blue's arms to sit her back in the pushchair. As she closed the little buckle that served as a seat belt she smiled into Clowance's eyes cooing, "An' what a dancer you are with a hankie on, keepin' the sun off like a proper Cornish maid!" Clowance giggled and Betsy stood up, turned to Ross and Dem. "I thought we'd go see if the swans were about..." Dem smiled. "That sounds like a lovely idea, Blue?" "Aye, Red?" said Malcolm, as if none of the bitter duel had just happened. Dem blinked a sort of sympathy towards him. "I think Garrick is lonesome for you. Would you take him along with Jinny and Betsy and the children?" He nodded. "Will do, love!" He slapped his thigh making Garrick strain at the lead Ross was holding. "C'mon boy! Come wi' us!" Ross walked forward to hand Malcolm the lead. Malcolm nodded a curt thank you to Ross and then fell in behind the girls and Jeremy as Betsy pushed Clowance along the path. They receeded into the distance, jolly, chatting. Jinny, Betsy and Blue walking down the landscaped path to the river and giving the Poldark children and Garrick loving attention. It occurred to Dem, in annoyance and Ross in embarrassment that Jinny or Betsy were just as likely to have put the hankie on Clowance's head as a solution to the sun being strong. Ross had let his misgivings over Dem wanting to resume contact with her brothers and Jeremy and Clowance occasionally mimicking Malcolm's speech, get the better of him. Ross let his misgivings over how clingy and physical Malcolm was with Dem get the better of him. Malcolm, clearly annoyed, had shrugged it off by singing "Knees Up Mother Brown" in a pointed way for all it seemed lighthearted. Malcolm had taken the high road. When they'd gone from view Dem turned to Ross, incredulous. "What's gotten in to you, Ross! How could you say such a thing!?" Ross was pinned between his grievances and his regret at making the remark. "Jeremy and Clowance start talking like Malcolm and I have to repair their grammar..." "You wouldn't say something like that about Jud or Prudie! Blue isn't any worse for grammar than the Paynters!" They frowned at each other. Because that was three quarters true Ross resented it the more. Ross narrowed his eyes and Dem met his gaze steel on steel. They both knew they were not _just_ discussing "ain't" or "mam" but that was the smaller piece of a larger complaint. Ross glowered. "I apologize, he just gets my back up sometimes..." he sighed glumly. Dem frowned. "Since when? You never seemed annoyed by him before!" Ross knew that to be so. He'd gotten on with Malcolm at the London flat, in Cornwall. Something about this newer arrangement, working with Armitage. Something about Dem's brothers entering her life once more. Something about ease with which Malcolm slipped into the London household, a role he'd carved for himself when Ross and Dem were separated, Malcolm insinuating himself into the flat and ensnared his wife and child like the Pied Piper rankled him.The casual way Malcolm had his hands on Dem all the time. The way Dem accepted and reciprocated their clingy behaviour. And, yes, there was snobbery within Ross too. Dem was his wife and they made their own way, a working class, West Country girl gone to Hempel and gradually, without pretentiousness or haste had come to inhabit refinements of habit and taste that fit their life, their rock and roll, gentry life. Ross had been content to believe that he and Dem and the children could remain in their own happy web, but that web was gentry. Dem was a Poldark, made gentry there by. But the shiver of distaste that Jeremy and Clowance would have cause to claim the Carnes, that his children were also Carnes and might flit between her family too was real. It made Ross uneasy. He did not see the Paynters as problematic in the same way. They just _were_ , like the sun rises in the morning. Ross had no issue with the Paynters' grammar for some of it had become a sort of "Namparese" that Ross had grown up integrating into his world view. He'd not seek to speak like Jud and Prudie in truth but sometimes the only words Ross could reach for, were phrasings like "fitty" or "for certain sure", not always in irony. He saw no issue with that. It was, to Ross' mind a birthright of his own and his children to use old, Cornish, Paynter words. That was less a class distinction in Ross' mind as a direct link to their land. And the Paynters were more anxious that Ross act like a gentleman than he often chose to. The demarcation between their classes was absorbed and digested into what was as servants but codified as well. Ross was gentry and, for all he rebelled and talked a good game of being easy going about class differences, when it came time to test his mettle he fell on the side of the line of his birth. "It won't happen again..." Malcolm had tweaked Ross' nose, first by singing it and then Jinny and Betsy's gleeful delight in it, his children's enjoyment of it. Malcolm made it plain that he gave way, did not make an argument out of it because "Red" was his friend. Dem was pulled in many different directions over it all. Nostalgia over a knotted handkerchief, her own dislike of "Knees Up Mother Brown"; her father used to sing it with menace when he lumbered up the stairs, drunk.(The line about sawing the legs off always frightened her) the tension of being betwixt and between. She was working class like Malcolm, like Jinny and Betsy, like the Paynter's, like her brothers but she'd been polished up to gentry in her schooling. Ross had lifted her to better by sending her to Hempel School. Dem felt closer to her brothers in her recent reunion, a loyalty to Blue, who had shown her genuine friendship and was part of her band and a loyalty to her roots for all she was Mrs. Ross Poldark. "If a hankie on Clowance's head is enough to bring that out of you, maybe you're sorry you even wed me! Am I too working class 'an' all'?" she asked tersely. Ross was pinned by being annoyed and shamefaced simultaneously. "No! Of course not!" Dem crossed her arms."Blue's my friend! He's a friend to the children, to Jinny and Betsy, even Garrick! He's a good man and a great drummer and my friend, Ross!" Ross sighed. 'He paws at you...' protested a little voice in the back of his head. "I beg your pardon Dem. I'm sorry."

Malcolm had meant to stay for dinner and Top of the Pops, but he took his leave soon after they returned to the flat. He and Ross resumed their ordinary attitude, behaved without rancor or visible dislike. That had always been their default even as they were often easy going in each other's company. Both men could contrive a pleasant agreement to be friendly. This was the first time the mood swung the other way. Both men sought to correct the balance not for themselves or each other but for Dem and the harmony of the household. Clowance and Jeremy were disappointed but Blue promised he'd come by again and have a nice visit. Hugs all round. Dem made a point of taking her leave of Blue like any other time. They had a squeeze of a hug and would be back at work Monday. By the night they retired to bed, each waiting on tenderhooks to see who would bring the matter up again. They lay quiet for a time and then Dem said, "You are going to have to cope with us commoners, Ross." Ross began, "Dem, I didn't mean..." Dem interrupted. "Yes. You. Did." and he went quiet because she was correct. "Luke, Sam, Will, John, Bobby, Drake, they are Jeremy and Clowance's proper uncles. Blue might as well be an uncle, Ross, he's that good with them. And Blue's been like a brother to me, he's been a good friend and working with him in the band means he's not going anywhere anytime soon." She turned to Ross in the dark. "They are rough around the edges and don't 'talk proper'," Ross was relieved to hear an edge of humor in her voice at, "talk proper". "I have my family back Ross. I didn't know if they'd want me, after leaving but they didn't even think twice. They just took me back, Ross, and that's a good thing even if Nellie thinks we're Satanists!" Ross gave a bark of a laugh. "What!?" Dem giggled. "She thinks we live a sinful life making sinful music!" Ross laughed. "They don't believe that though, the boys..." Ross thought of how effortless it was for Dem to reference her brothers as "the boys", seamless and simple. What is. Ross had often missed his parents and brother and he had not considered how wonderful it must be to have family returned to Dem. He did fall prey to snobbery. He feared change. He feared being out numbered somehow. That Jeremy and Clowance would drift away from being "proper Poldarks" and he'd be on the outside. He often railed against convention but Ross was being hypocritical. He had family in both directions and he resisted it out of prejudice. The religiosity of the step mother and their working class status was enough to consider them alien, threatening. Keep "his children" on "his side". That was wrong, he could see that now. He should be sensible enough to become family with Dem's side instead of see it as problematic. But that was not all. "I understand Dem. I'm sorry. I won't stand in their way, I won't be rude or," Ross constantly accused other people who were obnoxious this way but truly did not think to suggest it of himself until now. "be up myself over being gentry." Dem smiled. That Ross could confess he had been wrong and did feel misgivings about their class differences took a lot. She snuggled nearer but froze when Ross said, in gentle accusation, "You let Malcolm hold you all the time, touch you all the time..." She tilted her face up to look at him. "Yes, Ross." Ross turned to her. "Why is that? You hug him just as much..." Dem considered this. Having crossed the barrier of knowing it was not exactly correct to watch TV in the crook of Blue's arm when she and Ross were estranged but choosing to continue, the rest just sort of happened. There was no formal discussion or agreement between Red and Blue to hold hands, they just did. Or hug hello, or sit shoulder to shoulder, or lay her head at Blue's shoulder. There were also taboos and unwritten rules, rules they followed scrupulously though they never spoke of them. She would never do something forward like sit on Blue's lap. Blue always leaned away from her to speak, not near, on the sofa when he had his arm around her. Blue would never lay his head on her shoulder as she often did on his. There were unspoken prohibitions they had absorbed within these things. They knew their place. Ross was interested in her silence. She was considering her answer. It may well be the first time she was compelled to think about her physicality with Malcolm directly. "Dem?" She nodded. "I don't rightly know how it started except I had fallen asleep when we were watching a film and he had an arm around me, to keep me proped up. But when I woke up we just stayed like that. And it was nice." Ross looked at her in the dark. The answer was basic and forthright and still deeply odd. She nodded in the dark. "We just sort of do." said Dem. Ross looked up at the ceiling. There was no suggestion in her answer that it might look untoward, provocative. "Blue is my friend." said Dem. Ross considered this and still a bit baffled nodded his assent. They rolled inward, facing each other. Ross put his arm around her and Dem nestled against him.

"Goodnight, Dem."

"Goodnight, Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simmer Down, Bob Marley and the Wailers 1964
> 
> Simmer down, you lickin' too hot, so  
> Simmer down, soon you'll get dropped, so  
> Simmer down, can you hear what I say  
> Simmer down, that why won't you, why won't you, why won't you simmer down  
> Simmer down  
> Long time people dem used to say  
> What sweet nanny goat a go run him belly, so  
> Simmer down, oh control your temper  
> Simmer down, for the battle will be hotter  
> Simmer down, can you hear what I say  
> Simmer down, oh that I'm a leaving you today  
> Simmer down
> 
> Simmer down, oh you hear what I say  
> Simmer down, a that I'm leaving you today  
> Simmer down, can you hear what I say  
> Simmer down
> 
> Chicken Mary, hawk de near and when him de near  
> You must beware, so  
> Simmer down, oh control your temper  
> Simmer down, for the battle will be hotter  
> Simmer down, and you won't get no supper  
> Simmer down, and you know you bound to suffer  
> Simmer down, simmer, simmer, simmer right down  
> Simmer down, like you never did before  
> Simmer down, oh, oh, oh  
> Simmer down, can you hear what I say  
> Simmer down, you lickin' too hot so  
> Simmer down, and you know soon you'll get dropped, so  
> Simmer down, why won't you simmer, simmer down  
> Simmer down, simmer down, simmer down  
> Simmer down, simmer, simmer down  
> Simmer down, oh simmer, simmer down  
> Simmer down, like you never did before
> 
> Knees Up Mother Brown, B. Lee/H. Weston/I. Taylor 1938, but the song is as old as 1918
> 
> Mind the gap! :) Happy New Year, I'll be back...


	9. Can You Feel It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling into place

"It's here!" crowed Dem. Ross and the children came into the hall as Dem stood from picking up the parcel that fell through the letterbox. Twelve, seven inch singles bound in a cardboard packet with Warner logo "W"s printed in a repeat pattern on it. They sat in the lounge watching eagerly as Dem open it and, with a shy sort of pride, handed her first record to Ross for inspection. Jeremy and Clowance looked on as Ross grinned over "Think Again"/ b side: "The Lion Tamer" by Demelza Poldark. It had the plain typography of a first single and the upgrade of being designed rather than having a generic Warner sleeve. Ross turned it over and had a good laugh as Dem flushed with pleasure. She had her first single released and Ross caught her joke immediately. The photo on the back had them sitting with their backs to the wall in the rehearsal room, Hugh reading a Du Magazine, sunglasses on, Dem holding the neck of her Vox to one side as she chose a sweet from the quarter bag Malcolm offered her. It was a good illustration of their personalities and also an obvious spoof of the cover art for John Mayall's Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton. Hugh was reading his elegant Du the same way Clapton was reading a Beano comic. Ross reached to embrace Dem and plant a kiss on her forehead. "Congratulations! Congratulations, my love!" "Yay!" said Jeremy. "Can we play it!?" "Absolutely!" said Ross, and the smile in his voice was quite audible. Clowance bopped up and down to the music. Jeremy, at the ripe old age of five, sat on Mama's lap and hugged her as she cuddled round him and they listened to her music. He felt happy in her arms, very proud of her and had a calm sense of 'rightness' over him. Mama worked very hard and now she had a proper record. He was listening to Mama's record and her heart beating at the same time and Dem enjoyed the warm embrace of her biggest fan. Ross listened carefully. Well mastered, good levels, and an upbeat song as good as any on the radio with Dem's voice so strong and cheerful. Dem looked up over Jeremy's head and watched Ross pronounce her record 'fitty', from a production standpoint and wonderful as a performance with no words at all. Ross' smile said everything.

The physician gave his assurance that Valentine would only bear the slightest curvature to his legs going forward, barely noticeable. Elizabeth was relieved. Valentine's rickets was manageable and she had every reason to believe he would grow properly. She wondered if her former amphetamine use had damned her son to some degree though Geoffrey Charles had not had any issues such as Valentine suffered. Francis was not a drugs taker. One could not say the same of Ross. She buckled Valentine into his pushchair. Polly stood at the ready but she knew her mistress would do everything herself. There were times when Polly felt ill at ease caring for Valentine, feeling like Mrs. Warleggan was jealous of her dealing with him when she was the one that hired her! She would walk alongside, in silence, having little to do but there if necessary. Elizabeth thought about Ross. They might have had a large family. Dem had three, though the first didn't live. Valentine smiled up at his mother, she smiled down at him. They were very in tune with each other. George often wondered it Elizabeth only felt "proper" love for her children. She seemed indifferent to even Ross, a small comfort, if he was honest. He sniped now and again but his wife did follow George in all things and didn't seem to care about Poldark anymore. That Ross was little more than a stud service cheered George's heart. Elizabeth might have argued that all men were in that category for her mother had told her more than once that children were a woman's reward for duty. Men were men but your children were always your own. She told Ross that, that Valentine was exclusively hers. There was truth in that but it was also pragmatic. George was her husband. Dem was his wife. They had both made an exhibition of themselves in the magazines as devoted couples (though, unlike the Poldarks, her profiles were published in respectable publications) Ross had no interest in leaving Dem and their son. It was what it was. In a daydream she now and again imagined her three children with Ross. They would swear off drugs and be clean and Elizabeth would have persuaded him to switch to classical guitar. They would give concerts, him on guitar, her on harp, and have records on Angel Classical. And their babies could learn string instruments like cello and the viola in a world that couldn't be... Her mother detested Ross. She blamed him for the leapers. Maybe he was _a little_ to blame for the leapers, but not entirely... They left the doctor's office and went to the park. That he was not a Harley Street man had troubled George but the man was highly regarded and Elizabeth did not hesitate to decamp to a less fashionable area of London to get the best attention for Valentine. He was her joy and she would see him well looked after. They would meet with her driver who waited for their constitutional to end. Sun and fresh air. Valentine needed sun and fresh air. The day was pleasant and many were out and about. Elizabeth, so doting towards Valentine had not looked ahead quickly enough to avoid the people she saw ahead. In truth, she could have turned away but had wasted time staring and caught the eye other the other. Staring because George had made a remark that Dem was having an affair with her drummer. She rejected this out of hand but she was very surprised to see Dem walking with this person holding her hand. Dem took a sharp intake of breath. "Eh?" asked Malcolm feeling her tense up. "That's Ross'..." Dem choked a bit on the word 'cousin'. Elizabeth did not feel like a cousin. "That's Elizabeth Warleggan. She used to be married to Ross' cousin, Francis." Polly guarded her face. Dem Poldark was ahead on the path. It was not common knowledge and certainly not discussed or explained to the Warleggan's nanny, but Polly had some idea as to why both women bristled a little. Valentine did not favor Polly's employer in looks... Dem was as pretty in real life as in the magazines. The nanny was familiar with Ross Poldark from the magazines and TV too... Polly remained neutral as Mrs. Warleggan slowed. Elizabeth wore the sort of draping white silk blouse and pert, knobbly blue/grey tweed skirt and discreet jewellery of a wealthy matron, well cut in a slim silhouette with modestly heeled shoes in the sort of oxblood red that shined but was not patent leather and a handbag that coordinated. She looked Dem and her companion, for they were holding hands, in bland appraisal. The drummer in jeans and a scramble patterned shirt that looked rescued from a skip and Dem in her twee peasant blouse speckled with embroidered flowers, long denim skirt and a droopy cloth bag at her shoulder. One wondered why, with Orange Amps and a Warner recording contract Dem had yet to upgrade her wardrobe. Him in his clumpy work shoes, Dem in wan little ballet flats. That manager would have his hands full with these two, thought Elizabeth. "Hello, Dem." she said frostily. "Hello, Elizabeth." Blue smiled, in a polite niceness. Elizabeth looked him up and down, a rapid eye movement. 'What IS she thinking?!' thought Elizabeth. "Hello..." she began. "'Ello, name's Malcolm. Malcolm McNeil." Dem squeezed his hand tighter, this prevented him from shaking Elizabeth's hand. Elizabeth nodded. "Pleased to meet you. You are the drummer...?" "Aye!" said Blue, affably, giving Dem's hand a squeeze back. Dem had kept him from a faux pas. Elizabeth, manicured hands stationary at the pushchair's handles, had no intention or interest in shaking Malcolm's hand. "How is Valentine? And Geoffrey Charles?" asked Dem trying to be pleasant. "They are well. As you can see, Valentine is enjoying our walk..." Malcolm smiled at Valentine who blinked up at him, though Blue couldn't understand what was bothered him about the kid. He was cute and smiled... like Jeremy? Like Ross...? Blue looked between Red and Elizabeth. 'Fuckin' hell, poor Red...' He thought. At the point he might have questioned his idea the nanny raised an eyebrow and smiled like the Mona Lisa when his eyes widened. Dem and Elizabeth having exchanged their guarded pleasantries, said goodbye and went their separate ways. Malcolm and Polly were not introduced. Dem was cross at Elizabeth being dismissive of Blue but not surprised. Elizabeth walked on. "We shall walk a little further and return to the car." said Elizabeth to Valentine's nanny. She turned to watch Dem walking away. She had her thumb in the belt loop of the drummer's jeans at his hip. Walking with her arm around him! His arm around her shoulder... What is it they say? 'Blood calls to blood'? Dem seemed to have found herself a working class plaything, not like Ross at all! 'Ross married that child to remain immature, so _he_ could remain immature...' thought Elizabeth. 'A girl too young to know better and let him remain irresponsible and spoiled. He had miscalculated. Ross brought that guttersnipe home like bringing a tiger cub into your house and not knowing what it would grow into. What will he do now that she's grown?' Elizabeth smiled at Valentine again. Children are your reward for duty but, apparently, that does not apply to marrying one. Ross' little schoolgirl had jumped the fence it seemed. Dem had more of a spine than Elizabeth gave her credit for. 

The path by the water was crowded so Malcolm and Demelza walked along quietly, wandering their way through the other strolling passersby. Red looked pensive and Blue believed he knew why thought it wasn't his business, no reason to pry. They found a bench away from the crowd and sat down. Demelza seemed to shake off her sad mood. Hugh had mentioned going to America for studio time, to record tracks in New York City. She had been excited by the prospect and frightened of it too, leave for three months?! Could she really do that? Dem was counseled by Hugh to think about it. Hugh, who intended to see a doctor in New York during the trip did not want to push Dem into going if she did not want to leave England. He would take leave, for a week, go under the guise of some other reason, and go the the doctor alone if that was the case. Dem, at this moment, started to see advantage in going. "Do you think Hugh will really take us to New York?" Malcolm nodded 'yes'. "I don't see why not. 'E's got all kinds of ideas and don't seem afraid t'go for it." Red sighed. "Clowance is so young..." "Aye." said Blue. "But it won't be forever. She'd be alright at 'ome..." Suddenly, she wanted to go away. See new places. Dem wanted space apart to work on her music in a new place, a new town. Somewhere where she could make new, happy memories instead of being constantly reminded of sad old ones. Forget about Elizabeth and Valentine.

"Think Again" bobbled about in the lower reaches of the top thirty. That was a strong showing for a new artist and Warner saw no issue with the new artist's manager suggesting a New York recording session. Capitalizing on the respectable start Hugh Armitage had contrived for his experiment only made sense. She already had a sponsorship with Orange Amps, extra exposure that gave Warner even more reason to support her efforts and they had high hopes for "Afterburn" The label felt Armitage's canny choice to release the stronger song like a 'one, two punch' was proof he was the right man for the job. Dem said yes. At first nervous at being an ocean apart from Jeremy and Clowance, Dem became excited to go to America. Ross had gone there to record tracks for his first record and the symmetry felt important. She was meeting the same benchmarks as Ross, not in a spirit of competition but a sense that she was following a correct path. Other than seeing "A Hard Day's Night" when she was twelve the most important role model as a rocker was Ross and his work with Resurgam. By going to America too she was a bit like him. Even after Ross' errors and the ups and downs of their life together she still liked to think she was progressing as he had done. Musically Ross was her role model but going to New York also seemed like a good experience to try what Francis, Ross cousin and Elizabeth's first husband had suggested to her before he died. He had known the same discomfort of Ross and Elizabeth's previous history. He seemed to like Dem, genuinely like her and he counseled her to gain a little more independence. She never knew if Francis found out what had happened to make her leave Trenwith that last Christmas he had lived. Ross had kissed Elizabeth as they were clearing up dishes in the kitchen and Dem bolted without saying goodbye that night. He did not mention that one way or the other but later he gave her two pieces of advice that she thought of frequently these days. That Dem should not fear Elizabeth and she should work to be independent from Ross, build a bit more for herself, give herself more attention rather than cling to Ross as a mentor or a spouse. Bring that independence back into her relationship with Ross, put herself on a level playing field and think more of herself. Dem found that hard to do, as a wife, as a mother. Ross _had_ gone to Elizabeth, after she had been widowed. Between that and his relapse Dem found it difficult to cope and Jeremy was so small. She left Ross and went to London but found it hard to get through the days. There were twenty four hours in a day. If you sleep through most of them or stare at the daylight changing across the ceiling form your bed, a day twenty four hour day can become a month very quickly. Dem had lost herself in her misery. Blue had appeared like a knight in shining armor, helped her to pull out of her lethargy. He made her walk Garrick every Saturday except in the worst weather. Even sat on the steps calling to her from the landing. "Up an' at 'em Red! C'mon, lass!" No nonsense, wouldn't take no for an answer, even after she told Jinny to tell him to go without her. Wouldn't scold her in front of Jeremy or try to shame her into action. Blue simply treated it like any other Saturday until she did too. With generous and unstinting support for Dem and Jinny, Blue gave Jeremy attention and friendship as Dem struggled through her sadness. She got better. And later she reunited with Ross, went back to Cornwall. Bit by bit she mended, bit by bit she and Ross mended. Seeing Valentine in the park had saddened her. Elizabeth's dismissive attitude towards Blue irritated her. Elizabeth got what she wanted, Ross in her bed and even a child to forever link them, pots of money from marrying George Warleggan. Dem found some equilibrium, thinking about that. Dem shed her sadness and felt more optimistic. Ross had committed himself to her and the children. Elizabeth would not come between them again, Ross was sincere in this. Valentine was an innocent and a Warleggan. Dem could look forward, not back. She had Ross and Jeremy and Clowance. Her brothers welcomed her back into the fold and a new window had opened for her too. She was a Warner recording artist with a single at number 27 on the charts, had a successful advertising campaign and sponsorship with Orange Amps and the ability to create her own music with friends she had come to like very much. Dem, in as much as she chose to look at things this way, had something of her own and was better placed than Elizabeth. Dem had music of her own, Hugh suggested she might consider modeling more frequently. She had a career. The children were happy in Ross' care with Jinny and Betsy. If there was a good time to be abroad it was late summer, into autumn. As Hugh said, three month's work in the studio and home with time to spare for Christmas. Three months was a long time to be away but Dem decided to do it. Seeing Elizabeth, feeling self conscious and sad made Dem realize that she was too quick to retreat into old feelings of sadness and betrayal. Ross had worked to repair their relationship and Dem should live in the present. Ross would look after things at home and she could work on tracks for her album in New York City. At first Dem's impulse was to treat going to New York as a way to escape and lick old wounds. Seeing Elizabeth gliding through the park like a swan with Ross' son had eaten away at Dem's confidence in that moment. She shook that off. She was offended on Blue's behalf that Elizabeth seemed to look at him and deem him a lesser person. She reminded herself she was in control, not Elizabeth. Dem had a song in the Top 30 and Ross was her man. That was now. Dem would live now, in the present. Elizabeth had no power over her. Over them. Dem would not fear her, not hang on to old grudges. Ross had set aside his passion for Elizabeth, relinquished the child they made and returned to Dem and their family, looking after Jeremy and Clowance and loving her in truth. Dem had every reason to feel secure in a new adventure for she knew she could trust Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can You Feel It, The Jacksons 1981
> 
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it
> 
> If you look around  
> The whole world's coming together now, baby  
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it  
> Feel it in the air, the wind is taking it everywhere, yeah  
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it
> 
> All the colors of the world should be that  
> Lovin' each other wholeheartedly  
> Yes, it's all right  
> Take my message to your brother and tell him twice  
> Spread the word and try to teach the man  
> Who's hating his brother, when hate won't do  
> 'Cause we're all the same, yes, the blood inside me is inside you  
> Now tell me
> 
> Can you feel it, (tell me can you feel it) can you feel it, can you feel it  
> (Can you see what's going down? Can you feel it in your bones?)  
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it  
> Yeah, yeah
> 
> Every breath you take  
> Is someone's death in another place  
> Every healthy smile  
> Is hunger and strife to another child  
> But the stars do shine  
> In promising salvation, is near this time  
> Can you feel it now  
> So brothers and sisters, show we know how  
> Now tell me
> 
> Can you feel it, (tell me can you feel it) can you feel it, can you feel it  
> (Hey, hey, tell me, can you see what's going down? Open up your mind)  
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it
> 
> All the children of the world should be  
> Loving each other wholeheartedly  
> Yes, it's all right  
> Take my message to your brother and tell him twice  
> Tell the news to the marching men  
> Who are killing their brothers, when death won't do  
> Yes, we're all the same  
> Yes, the blood inside my veins is inside of you  
> Now tell me
> 
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it  
> Can you feel it, can you feel it, can you feel it
> 
> Harley Street: a superior London district where physicians of renoun have their consulting rooms/offices
> 
> leapers: Elizabeth became addicted to Drinamyl when she was a Mod in the early 1960s. Ross was not hooked but he took them too, a common habit in Modernist culture.
> 
> rescued from a skip: Malcolm's shirt is so obviously second hand, with a fabric pattern that was in style in the 1950s, Elizabeth thinks it's tacky and scavenged from a garbage pile


	10. World Of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sudden shower

"To-day if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts." Ross sat in his seat, jeans and a tee shirt. Fourth of a missing family and alone in the church and recited the psalm he knew best. There were whisperings that Sawle Church would follow suit with many of the churches in the area and lock its doors in fear of theft or vandalism, not leave it open to all, but old habits died hard. Ross was grateful for the church being accessible and empty. He did not have a religious bent per se but sometimes Ross wanted faith. Or play at having a faith. Wanted a higher sort of means to make sense of his life. Joshua went to church like a squire of his station and fell away in an embrace of sin that might have been comic after Grace had died if it hadn't been so over the top. Mama seemed to need the ritual after Claude died but she was not a religious woman either. A sense of duty. The Nampara Poldarks in their pew. Francis often had candy and he and Claude had little attention for the sermon being shushed by Mama and Aunt Verity while cousin Verity sat erect and exemplary at Francis' side, eating her candy with the barest pucker of her mouth and only straying from her rigidity when Claude giggled. It was impossible to resist Claude. Ross had been jealous of him. Jealous of his power over everyone. He paid for it though, Ross. He paid for his dark thoughts. Ross would do anything to hear Claude giggle again. At thirty-six years of age, Ross still carried a great deal of magical thinking that was detrimental. He did feel guilt, for Claude. For Mama. For Julia. For being a wicked enough person to wish Claude ill and break Mama's heart by having poor Claude die. To be paid in kind and have Mama taken away. To fly in the face of fate and have Julia taken away and feel her cold brow, she who had been alive and ceased to be. Cursed. Even when Ross had cause to hope that life would change and he would be released from these tragic sadnesses, fate snarled anew. Anyone who might have heard Ross' logic would have assuaged him immediately. But Ross never admitted his wicked deeds. It was a private shame that he kept close. Irrational. He told himself it was irrational. But it was not enough to stomp it out. Ross felt himself to be a cursed object. A bane. And there became times every few years when, unobserved, he sat in the Poldark pew and considered these things. This was such a time. Jeremy and Clowance were in the company of Betsy and two of her younger siblings, Ena Daniel and two of the Scobles. Down the beach, playing with local children as Ross had when he was young. Time moved slower in Cornwall compared to London. Ross had many bitter feelings over God but he needed these ponderings sometimes. He looked out the window to see three stunted hawthorn trees, so bent and slanted by the wind that they might have been clipped into their distorted shape by giant shears. Still bright with sun but it was raining. Might life be easier as a tree? Reincarnation into a quiet being that might grow year after year with no heartache? Left to widen ring after ring in the changing seasons? Ross might come back as a hawthorn tree. He might prefer it. A quiet existence where his failings and sin could stay contained and harm no one. Not Christian thought at all but what Ross was thinking as he heard someone else enter. 

George was in talks to distribute Casablanca records in the U.K. a lucrative deal for they would have the right to some of the popular American "disco" records that had seen such popularity recently. This was heavy business and Elizabeth thought it best to decamp to Cornwall for Geoffrey Charles had missed the place and Valentine would have his fill of sun and fresh air on their own grounds, not parks crowded with strangers. Elizabeth had enjoyed the fond welcome of their servants and the quieter pace of life, playing with Valentine beyond the grand house much as she had done with Geoffrey Charles at the same age. She left him in Polly's care to have his nap and took a walk to see how Sawle Church was faring. They will have left for London by Sunday and not come to worship, but she wanted to see how things fared. The churchyard and its small cemetery was becoming over full and letting them have more land from their holdings might be necessary. It was sunny and bright as she approached the church but behind her a brace of fat grey clouds was creeping forward in a brisk upper wind. Elizabeth had the strange sensation of a drop of water hit her neck, from nowhere it seemed until she turned around and looked up. What had seemed a chance droplet had become a sudden shower. As she reached the church the rain became heavier again so she ducked into the porch and peered up at the sky. The rain fell in slanting rods which were splintered into brilliance by the sun, bright and untroubled in the distance. The door was unlocked and she entered the church to wait for the rain to end. She got four steps in before seeing Ross turn his head to see who entered, calm and sitting in the Poldark pew. A strange sight. Ross and Dem did not go to church. It was his seat by right of birth but only she and Francis used that pew for worship. Ross and Elizabeth had not met until her father took a townhouse in Truro. She had not been in the area when Ross had been a child, still taken to church by his parents. What seemed so jarring to Elizabeth was Ross' unthinking habit. Papa, Mama, Claude and him, in that order, every Sunday, in an other life... Elizabeth stopped and considered leaving. She was aware that this quiet pastoral community with its beautiful cliffs and pretty meadows, proud woods and mighty sea was a gossip den of the highest order. George had accepted Valentine, most people would have no cause to consider him anything but a Warleggan but it would pique George if he heard that she had been seen with Ross in her trip back to Trenwith. That was a headache she did not need. George being snippy with her she could bear but she did not want Valentine to fall under that harsh treatment too. George had been good to both her sons. And life had been smooth as of late. She still had not conceived. She dearly wanted to have a third child, an undisputed Warleggan. They had not managed it yet. She needed George to remain content. Ross looked surprised. Elizabeth had entered but she looked as if she would have been more willing to have confronted some long-dead corpse dragging the rotted remnants of its winding sheet than him. "It's a sunshower. I shouldn't think it will last long" said Elizabeth making ready to return to the porch outside. "Stay!" said Ross, irritated that Elizabeth would seek to avoid him. Had George successfully turned her against him? "I'm hardly likely to bring peril to you in a church, a respectable married woman," said Ross. Elizabeth's nostrils flared. Was Ross suggesting her to have been _common_ in seeking their tryst? Sarcastically calling her respectable? He continued. "Still less, since you married George and threw your lot with him, would I wish to say anything or do anything to make your life a more dislikeable one or to spoil the happiness you should be enjoying." Against his intention a bite had come into the last sentence. Elizabeth had a cold, almost angry demeanor. In truth she was most annoyed with herself for her night of passion, so seemingly simple when she contrived it, had sidewinded into a drama of absurd proportions. She strode the the pew behind Ross and sat with dignity, stared at him coldly. 'Oh _my_ happiness? My marriage!?' thought Elizabeth. She remembered Dem walking through the park with her arm around her drummer. "Do I dare ask about _your_ wedded bliss?" Ross looked at her in surprise. "Dem seemed quite content with her little drummer boy when I last saw her in London. Ross frowned. "It's not like that," said Ross, annoyed. "Oh?" asked Elizabeth, "You've seen them then? You've seen her hanging all over him?" Ross glowered at her. "Dem is not having an affair with Malcolm. They just," He flapped his hand in an irritated manner. "They just do that..." Elizabeth looked at Ross as if he had lost his mind. Ross sighed. "Dem has a good friend in Malcolm. They are working together. Dem is not having an affair." Liza looked astonished. "She parades that boy in front of you and you don't care?" Ross frowned. "I do... care. But it's too late! They act like that and I left them to it! To argue about it now would make it look like I don't trust her!" Elizabeth's mouth felt open. "What?!" said Ross tersely. "The last person I would have ever believed to be henpecked is you!" said Elizabeth. That she knit her brows made him more defensive. "I'm not!" Elizabeth laughed. She laughed harder as he looked mystified. "Top face, Ross Poldark changing nappies and getting the weekly shop in while Dem records her album with her 'friend'! Does she give you pin money too!?" Ross looked at Elizabeth sternly. "Dem _gave_ me three children, an ultimatum to get clean..." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Clean?" Ross turned in the pew. Looked over his arm on the back of the pew. "I was not just drinking after all that, I was back on smack." he said quietly. Elizabeth gasped. No wonder he never contacted her afterwards. She had been offended, truth be told, that he cut off contact with her after they'd slept together. She stared at his arm. She saw no marks to damn him. Ross watched her eyes look down at his arm, understood her scrutinizing his arm and he smiled, ruefully. "I used my feet." She stared at him. They had been pill poppers to both their detriment when they were young but she never injected drugs. Ross had been a registered addict in 64', she knew that from the trial. That he went back to drugs after their night together shocked her. Elizabeth had wanted her due, her last hurrah, the pleasure she considered her right. She thought Ross had avoided her afterwards to placate Dem. She had no idea he turned to drugs. He and Dem gave out he had been drinking! That Christmas song was about drinking! "You used heroin? Why?" Ross looked away once more, faced the front. Elizabeth stared at his back, the hair falling in loose curls, still long. He leaned back at the pew and she hesitated but she leaned forward and lay her hand on his shoulder. Ross felt Liza rest a hand on his shoulder. The tart taunt from before atoned for. She waited and Ross brought his left hand to rest on top of hers. "What was done was ill done," said Ross. Elizabeth frowned but still listened. He held her hand at his shoulder more securely. He stared at the back of the other pew. _Liza_. "Can you imagine how I felt when I learned that he was to have you?" She squeezed his hand. 'Yes', she might have said. "I was mad – mad with jealousy. It’s not easy to reason with a man when he sees the woman he has always loved giving herself to the man he has always hated..." Elizabeth pressed her lips together, wet them briefly in a nervous fidget. "I gave myself to you..." she began. Ross stiffened. "I took what I had no right to take, from you, from Dem. I... Was angry and forced myself on you... I broke my vow... I broke her heart." Elizabeth closed her eyes. She had not considered Ross might regret his actions. In truth she thought his attitude so stark and primal there was no guilt to be had. She had goded Ross in a purposeful manner, knew he was primed for the outcome she had wanted. That he might regret it as his "fault" she was not prepared to hear. "Men are men..." her mother said, "Brutes who are ruled by their lusts, little better than rutting animals..." Elizabeth had asked, perturbed, "Even Papa!?" Rather than answer directly, insult her husband directly Mrs. Chynoweth simply answered, "All men are dogs." Elizabeth spared no thought at Ross regretting his actions, her conception of male desire so immature. She had no idea Ross would have any heart searchings or guilt. "You took nothing, Ross." He stiffened. "I..." Elizabeth began but faltered. Could she be truthful? Would Ross blame her for injuring his marriage if she admitted her guilt? Admitted that she had lured him into that night with malice a forethought? Even Dem seemed to see that clearly, Elizabeth's manipulation, did Ross really not see that? He blamed himself? "Ross," she retreated into cowardice at the last. They had a son. They had their own lives. Life could change. Elizabeth had not gotten this far in her life by making mistakes. Admitting herself devious would be a mistake, it would be handing away leverage over Ross she might be in need of later. Francis drowned. People change, George might change or even die. Ross might want a woman who let him feel like a _man_ , not a babyminder or a penitent. Life could change. Keeping what arrows she had in her quiver was common sense. "However the night began, I do not blame you... We... We had unfinished business, Ross." Ross let go her hand and turned to look at Elizabeth. She nodded. "We finished what we started. If you broke a vow and I broke a promise, in Francis' memory, my engagement... We were tied to other people but that night was apart from them." Ross stared at her, considering what she had said. She continued. "You gave me Valentine." Ross nodded and looked away once more. Elizabeth could not read his mood but she also could see her judgment in her ability to understand Ross was not as canny as she had believed. "We had a connection." she said, simply. "We had unfinished business. We could not let it lie, you know that." Ross, grudgingly, nodded. He did not spend time recounting their tryst but he could admit it had become better between them as the night wore on and his leave of her, out the window like a Shakespearean drama was consequential. But then she fell pregnant... "Liza,". said Ross. Her eyes widened. "I beg your pardon. I am sorry." She nodded, mutely. Was she sorry? For taking what she thought was her right? For letting Ross believe he was at fault? She did not know. They looked at each other. You can't see the future. You can wish for futures though. Was there yet a future where two lovers would reunite? Would George and Dem also become the past as their Mod adolescence had become the past. Was it their fault that Elizabeth's mother hated Ross or Ross' father was so notorious? Even if she had not become addicted to speed her mother would have sought to get Ross away from her. Elizabeth handed her the opportunity on a platter. Elizabeth was reminded of her duty. Cusgarne, their ancestral home, was falling apart, the noble lineage of the Chynoweths was her strength and her duty. She must make a good marriage for the continuation of their fortunes. Gadding about in nightclubs and being so foolish in her "freedom" to use drugs was proof she was being led astray by Ross who was no better than he ought to be with a father like Joshua. And Elizabeth did as she was told. She did not fight it. She didn't have it in her to fight her mother. She had gotten herself into trouble with "purple hearts" and needed help. Help her mother gave her, getting their family physician to discreetly detox and monitor her step down until Elizabeth was well again. There was nothing for it but pragmatism. Elizabeth was nothing if not pragmatic. "The rain has stopped." said Elizabeth looking at the window bright with sun. Ross nodded. He felt better for finally apologizing to Elizabeth. She was right in saying they had forced themselves into a reckoning but he had erred to take her to bed. They had been the toast of Mod London. In that time Ross had wanted to marry her, have a family and live a happily ever after that had no form at all. Ross had no idea what would have happened next. Would they have had a glamorous life of dancing and parties, becoming more and more addicted to speed? Would Elizabeth have wanted to be left at home while he toured? Would he have joined someone else's band instead of leading Resurgam? What if life had been different? He had a curdled facsimile of everything he had wanted then with Liza; a night bordering on rape instead of a marriage and little boy he lost all right to claim. But Elizabeth sat elegant and patient, the anger in her had gone. She had absorbed their sins into a part of her world view and counseled him to do the same. They did have their history to cope with and it was not well done on either side, hurt people on every side. It had been a series of disasters but they had found their end. They had their end at the last. "How is Geoffrey Charles?" asked Ross, genuinely interested. Elizabeth bloomed like a rose, proud of her son. "He's grown three inches! We came back to Trenwith for he found Truro tedious. He preferred being here, you'd think him fifteen! So tall now..." Ross smiled a bit. Shyly. "And Valentine?" Elizabeth smiled warmly. Ross found it charming but she was actually parsing what to answer. Valentine was in better health but it wouldn't do to explain his delicate health to Ross, make him worried or need to keep asking after him. They were in truth about to retreat back into their own lives. Ross in his. Liza in hers. Whether things changed later she did not know but they had found their plateau here. That it was conducted in a church was a wry situation. "He's so bright, Ross! So clever. He loves his blocks and finds animals so fascinating..." She was struck at how Ross smiled. At such bland information. Their son... She stood. "Valentine is well." she smiled. Ross stood. "I'm glad." They left the church and both inhaled the moist air, freshened by the shower and felt the warmth of the sun. She walked forward and Ross hurried to keep up with her. Suddenly realizing this was goodbye in truth, really parting ways. They must make their lives as they were lived but they would part on good terms. They had found their truce at last. He grasped her arm gently and she turned to look at him. He was still handsome, Ross had changed very little over the years. "You were going -returning to Trenwith?" She nodded. She was gratified that Ross still had the need to feel he must escort her. It pleased her vanity. But she would decline. She found her return to Trenwith as diverting as Geoffrey Charles but the area knew only one thing well. It was still a gossip shop. It would irritate George if he came to know she had met Ross here, even unsought by her, an accident of a sudden shower. She would not have Ross walk her home. "You'd be safer with an escort. I'll walk with you that far..." began Ross. She turned to look at him. As pretty as she had ever been. He thought exactly what she had thought, what little change the years had made. He might have been back in London looking at the girl who had then meant everything in life to him and on whose word his whole future hung. She shook her head, still smiling, trying to walk forward. "No thank you, Ross. I prefer to walk alone." She moved and it would have been polite to relinquish Elizabeth's arm. Ross hadn’t released her arm and though she made a movement away from him he did not let go. Quietly he pulled her towards him and covered her face with kisses. Five or six brushing kisses, loving, admiring; too sexual to be brotherly yet too affectionate to be altogether resented. "Thank you, Ross," Elizabeth smiled fondly. Ross' admiration was harder to kick than leapers. "And now, goodbye..."

"Goodbye, Liza." Ross said.

Prudie had cause to wonder what, exactly, had Jud so grumbly. He was short tempered. He burrowed himself behind his newspaper in some sort of grievance. Letting his tea grow cold as Ross and Dem, Jeremy and little Clowance had their tea and biscuits with their ordinary chit chat, enjoying each others company before Dem left for London. So contented with their tea they had not noticed Jud being so quiet. The late August weather was pleasantly warm, not too hot, as if the month wanted a chance to see what being September felt like. The Poldarks returned from a fun morning at the cove. Washed and tidy, the children were excited because Ross was taking them with him augment the weekly shop at the supermarket after a visit to the toy store in Truro, to choose a small treat (and a secret reconnaissance for Ross to see what they might like at Christmastime). Dem had begged off a trip she might have liked to attend to work in the garden at the front of the house. The Poldarks were satisfied with their plans for the day and fortifying themselves with biscuits tea and milk for these happy pursuits. They went their separate ways and Prudie made a point of looking to be sure Ross left with the little'uns and Dem was out front, gardening. Jud's mood was too stark and baffling to wait until they went home. "What's t'do?!" hissed Prudie has she returned to the kitchen. "Wha be eatin' ee?!" Jud asked, behind his newspaper, "They's out?" Prudie stood near him and then sat. That he was as careful to make sure the Poldarks were elsewhere signaled something amiss. "Aye, Dem be out front an' Master Ross did take the little'uns o'er t'Truro..." Jud put down his paper and frowned. "Ee mind two week back? When the devil be beatin' 'is wife?" Prudie nodded. Jud had asked if she remembered the 'sunshower', two weeks ago, a sudden rain but the sun not obscured by clouds. "I waited un out by them trees an' when it be done, be cuttin' cross near Sawle Church an' be naught a minute away from tryin' to get out the rain when I d'see Mistress Warleggan, she tha were Master Francis' widow quaddling out the church 'erself. I figure she be beatin' the rain too an' then I sees Master Ross come along trottin' after 'er." Prudie's eyes widened. "Eh?!" "Aye!" said Jud in a cross mood. "An' after all tha business! Tis enough to make St. Piran spit!" Prudie sought a harmless explanation. "Mayhaps they be talkin' 'bout the mite? Mayhap tha be why..." Jud shook his head. "NAY!" Prudie was surprised by Jud's vehemence. "Nay, I thought so meself, 'they ain't got any other way to talk about young Valentine', that be why I says t' meself. Polly Odgers d'say t'any an' all who gots ears the boy be a sickly mite, they's talkin' bout tha..." Prudie watched Jud glower more. They be in thur an' come out, an 'e tinkerin' after she like calf wi' a bell round 'is neck! Talkin' some rot, tryin' t'walk 'er 'ome, an then be kissin' on 'er!" "EH?!!!" exclaimed Prudie. "Aye!" said Jud. "An Dem be thinkin' thur ain't no more trouble...!" said Jud darkly. "I dunno wha sorta poppet tha missy be stickin' pins in but she be leadin' Master Ross about like a dog on a lead!" said Jud. Prudie put her hands to her mouth. In this very room Ross had asked her in a plaintive despair 'Why do I keep fucking up my life, Prudie?', so upset over Valentine being a product of his adultery and being told of it as Dem was pregnant with Clowance. Ross and Dem had to work to get to that point. Dem left him, in his unfaithfulness, in his relapse into drugs and alcohol. They had to struggle to get that far. They had to come to terms with the truth of that child being Ross' as they were about to turn a corner from all that pain and then the pain returned anew. Prudie was certain Elizabeth would not be an issue anymore. Ross was contrite and they worked past Valentine's parentage too, even had that magazine come take pictures, take pictures of the new baby, their new start. They worked to get past it all and he STILL was carryin' on wi' tha Chynoweth girl! Still, after all their troubles! Jud was stone faced. "It be a right mess... Dem don't deserve bein' done dirty like tha, thinkin' 'e be on the straight an' narrow when 'e ain't!" Jud had been so irritated he only just registered Prudie's look of horror. "I ain't makin' it up! She d'ave a right t'know !" Prudie was shocked. "Well ee can't tell 'er! Ee can't tell her now!" Jud looked at her in surprise. "How long til she 'ear tell of it from some other folk! 'E was kissin' tha cow in the churchyard! If I could see it, who else might 'ave?!" Prudie shook her her head 'no'. Jud argued, "Master Ross be pawin' at 'er! Tryin' t'be walkin' 'er back t'Trenwith! Kissin' all over 'er face! Tsk." He crossed his arms. Prudie crossed hers. "Ee can't tell the maid afore she go! Dem be all cock a hoop about this trip t'America! Ee can't fret 'er now! She's gonna be on the telly an' all! Dem's got som'ing of 'er own, all 'er own, Jud Paynter! Don't spoil it! Ee sat on un two week, ee can sit on un til she d'come 'ome!" argued Prudie. Jud felt a villain. Prudie was right. It would ruin all Dem's excitement and she'd be away from home grieving. "Ee 'ave a point. Aye, that be a point. But she can't be in the dark, like. If Mistress Elizabeth be makin' a nuisance of 'erself again, if Ross be lookin' Trenwith way, t'ain't right for Dem t'be the last t'know." They were quiet for a time. Prudie stood and went to the sink. "Mayhap it's not our business..." said Prudie. "Eh?! You sayin' she ain't t'know?!" Prudie picked up a dishtowel and began systematically strangling it in anxiety. "Jud! Ee saw wha ee saw. I ain't 'appy about un, but it could be a bad business if'n ee tell Dem." Jud actually recoiled in his disagreement and surprise. "Wha ee on about?" Prudie looked down at the twisted towel in her hands. "It ain't our business Jud Paynter." The Paynters often grumbled. But true argument was rare. Jud was offended at the idea they should not intervene. "Wha's got in t'ee?" Prudie took a deep breath and spoke of her reasoning. "It ain't our place. Dem's got tha Scottish bloke about. If'n ee fret 'er she might act out and it'll be a right mess!"said Prudie. "EH!?" Jud looked at his wife in astonishment. "He ain't makin' eyes at Dem!" Prudie looked irritated. "Mind what I say, Jud Paynter! That Malcolm don't 'ave to be 'makin' eyes at 'er'! He be a good'un, but they be in each other's pockets, ee see 'em be stuck together like limpets! The little'uns be callin' 'im 'uncle'! Our Dem don't 'ave no girlfriends t'lean on! T'talk like. She ain't got naught but Garrick an' 'er guitar! If'n she need a shoulder t'creen on oo's it likely t'be?! I tells ee, it will do 'arm! You don't know what trouble is! A lad 'er own age...?" Jud considered this. Dem was very much cut off from girls her own age as she grew up in Nampara. It was true that she had no close friendship in this gossipy community. They both thought Malcolm a 'good lad', and enjoyed seeing Demelza have a friend of her own, someone who made her laugh and helped with the kiddies. Jinny Martin said, more than once, that the dark days of Dem's exile at the London flat when she and Ross were separated were improved by Malcolm walking Garrick and getting Dem out of the house, not letting Demelza hide in her bedroom all day. Malcolm had proved himself a friend. Jud could see that a broken heart and a lad her own age were a poor combination. Jud nodded. Sighed heavily. "Aye, I d'see wha ee mean... We'll wait on un? Watch for 'er?" Prudie nodded. "Aye, then..." said Jud, glumly. "Master Ross better mind 'is missus, though..." He smiled, sadly, you do want to see the people you care for do right, be well, but it was their path. Watching them wandering the wrong path again was discouraging. "The goings on..." sighed Jud. He looked to Prudie, his better half all these years. Jud said with a wry admiration entering his sad smile, "You's lucky I be a home lovin' man..." Prudie relaxed her grip on the towel and laid it on the counter. "Aye, luv." said Prudie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World Of Pain, Cream 1967
> 
> Outside my window is a tree  
> Outside my window is a tree  
> There only for me  
> And it stands in the grey of the city  
> No time for pity, for the tree or me
> 
> There is a world of pain  
> In the falling rain  
> Around me
> 
> Is there a reason for today?  
> Is there a reason for today?  
> Do you remember?  
> I can hear all the cries of the city  
> No time for pity for a growing tree
> 
> There is a world of pain  
> In the falling rain  
> Around me
> 
> Outside my window is a tree  
> Outside my window is a tree  
> There only for me  
> And it stands in the grey of the city  
> No time for pity for the tree or me
> 
> There is a world of pain  
> In the falling rain  
> Around me
> 
> Top face: In Mod culture the best dressed stylemakers were called "Faces" to be a face meant others looked to you as an arbiter of cool, the ones people looked up to and tried to emulate. Liza is saying Ross used to be the height of cool and now he's reduced to being a domestic under Dem's heel.
> 
> Pin money: an older term for spending money that a middle class housewife would be allowed from her husband. The suggestion is Dem controls Ross, that he is surrendered, obedient and too cowed to demand anything.
> 
> Purple hearts/leapers: slang terms for Drinamyl, triangular shaped, blue pills. They were highly addictive and widely abused in the mod subculture of the early 1960s, prescribed as the sort of "pick me up" to housewives as skewered by the Rolling Stones in the song 'Mother's Little Helper'
> 
> The devil be beatin' 'is wife: The devil is beating his wife. A phase meaning 'sunshower' a situation when the sun is still shining while rain is falling.


	11. I Heard It Through The Grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voices carry

Malcolm and Demelza were sitting on the floor of the rehearsal room, hunched over an exercise book like children playing marbles. Hugh was seated some feet away with Du Magazine obscuring his face. There was a perverse enjoyment in hearing the two of them bickering over a set of lyrics. Hugh had huge pieces of news to share and waiting patiently to drop it upon them amused him.

"That's daft!"

"It's not! What's wrong with it?"

"It don't make no sense for a start!"

"It doesn't have to make sense! It's pretty!"

"Pretty..." said Malcolm derisively. "I'm the one singing it!" Demelza crossed her arms. Malcolm crossed his. "That's all the more reason for it to make some kinda sense!" "Ahem..." Hugh cleared his throat behind his magazine. They looked over to him. One eye peeked over the magazine. "It seems," said Hugh gathering his attention. "Afterburn" has entered the top twenty..." The lyrics lay forgotten. "Aaaaahhhh!" They both exclaimed from happiness. "Red! You did it!" Malcolm was that proud. He had been convinced Red could be a proper star the minute he first played with her. "We did it!" sighed Demelza who grinned at Hugh and Blue with a warm sense of gratitude. Blue cajoling her to meet with Hugh and join forces together made it happen. "It will be number fourteen and we have been summoned." "Summoned?" asked Malcolm. "Yes," smirked Hugh. "We will be on Top of the Pops." he said matter of factly. "Fuckin' hell!" Malcolm's mouth fell open. Demelza gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. "Mam's gonna cry!" Malcolm had half a mind to call her right now. Hugh smiled at Demelza. He was learning to gauge her happiness by the level of sparkle in her eyes. They were already at a celestial height. Hugh wondered if she might faint for he kept the largest piece of news for last. He looked from one to the other. "There's one more thing..." Red and Blue looked at each other and then at Hugh. "Good or bad!" asked Demelza. "Splendid!" Hugh's smile made them very curious. Hugh wasn't smirking anymore it was a proper smile. "I've been turning various irons in the fire and the best one has come up trumps." _Better than being on Top of the Pops?_ "Best one?" asked Malcolm. Hugh's smirk returned. "Aye!" teased Hugh, Malcolm's word in Hugh's elegant, plumy accent. They were bursting with curiosity. Hugh couldn't keep it in any longer, he simply said, "Whistle Test." They were shocked. "Get away!" whispered Malcolm. "Judas!" shrieked Demelza. She stood up from the floor and Blue followed suit. "You sayin' we're playin' The Whistle Test!?" Malcolm was gobsmacked. "Yes Malcolm. We'll film it before we leave for New York." Hugh had a great deal of satisfaction watching Malcolm hug Demelza and spin her around like a doll as they shrieked with glee. The Old Grey Whistle Test was a music television show that all the best established bands played as well as being willing to book newer acts and made a point of giving airtime to musicians and bands whether or not they had a current single in the charts. One played live on Whistle Test -not miming like Top of the Pops. It was a feather in one's cap, proof of you were worthy in musician circles. Playing a live set on Whistle Test showed you knew what you were about.

"Papa! We should have fish and chips!" Ross looked at Jeremy indulgently as they returned from the park. Papa did not go to the chip shop. It was one aspect of the London house Jeremy missed from the days when he was little and Blue would bring him a toy car and play with him on Saturdays. They still watched Top of the Pops on Saturdays with Blue to visit, sometimes, but they had proper, home cooked dinners. They were delicious and enjoyable but Mama and Blue would be on Top of the Pops tonight and Jeremy craved the symmetry of 'going down the chippy'. "Please?!" asked Jeremy. Jinny grinned and turned to Betsy, "They do a right good pickled egg!" Blue and Ross wrinkled their noses. The Martin girls laughed. Jinny gave Blue a gentle shove, pushed at his arm with a chuckle as he grinned. "This one don't like pickled eggs!" Blue shrugged with an affectionate smile. "I ain't standin' in the way of ee! Ee can 'ave that mad smellin' thing, it's no odds t'me!" Jeremy made another plea. "Clo hasn't had fish and chips!" Clowance had fallen asleep in her pushchair and had no remark to add. Ross smiled, ruefully. He was outnumbered and, in truth, it was a childish aversion. Years had passed since he'd been in there as a drug addict. He had nodded out in there more than once and was too embarrassed to return once he was straight. "We must have a head count, will Hugh deign to eat food from a chippie?" mused Ross. Jeremy skipped up the pavement, that was as good as yes! "Jinny!" At this Jinny said, "One!" Jeremy crowed, "Betsy!" happy to be in charge of the head count. "Two!" smiled Betsy as she pushed Clowance. "Clo makes three," she added. "Blue!" said Jeremy hopping over cracks in the pavement. "Aye! Knock at the door, that's four!" said Blue. Jinny and Betsy started laughing. "You was down the bingo?!" asked Jinny, surprised. "Aye," chuckled Blue. "Nan was mad for bingo! Me an' my brothers would come along now an' then, wi' Mam an' Nan an' Mam kep'us quiet wi'a Beano!" Ross rolled his eyes. Dem was at the flat so his attitude towards bingo was unobserved. "Papa!" Ross smiled. "And Mama! We are six!" "Me!" said Jeremy. "Seven!" They all shouted and Garrick barked so as not to be left out. "Not to deny Hugh fish and chips but perhaps we should have our feast as lunch and have cake at transmission..." mused Ross. Early dinner, snacks if one was peckish and then cake and tea for Top of the Pops. This was agreed to. "Do we have enough hands to bring it all home?" teased Ross. "I can help!" said Jeremy. And everyone smiled. Dem had a happy phone call from her brothers all at Luke's house to see her on Top of the Pops without Nellie's disapproval. All passing the receiver to the next well wisher and and chatting about their ordinary day to day life comings and goings. She heard the others return and Jeremy rushed forward into the kitchen. "Mama! We got you cod and chips!" he said proudly. Dem started laughing and ruffled Jeremy's hair. "Yes, that's Jeremy. He knows what I like from the chippy!" she said to Jane, Luke's wife, who heard him through the phone. "Get it while it's hot, luv! We'll see ya on the telly!" said Jane. Luke came back on. "Bye, Demi! Good on ya! We'll be watchin'!" Dem closed her eyes. It was so good to have her brothers back. "Goodbye Luke! We'll meet up after I get back from New York!" Dem hung up as everyone piled in. Dem smiled at Ross. "What made you go to the chippy!" Ross had a wry smile. "Jeremy said it would be just the thing! So here we are. I figured it was better to have it now..." Dem smiled. They had come along way. It wasn't until Dem was older that she realized Ross' habit of having having fish and chips so frequently when they first met was dictated by his heroin use. He did not have a lot of food in the house, went out to eat instead and the chippie was the closest takeaway. She understood why he stopped going to the chip shop. She smiled and crossed the room as everyone was settling to eat and gave Ross a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Ross put his arms around her with a grateful smile, an enjoyable hug. Jeremy and Clowance sat in their seats grinning, admiring their parents. Blue and Jinny smiled after them all. They were pleased to see Ross and Dem getting on. That Jeremy still had good memories of fish and chips in London was down to their determination to look after Dem and Jer. Back in '75, Saturday meant a brisk walk with Garrick and Mama, a new toy car, a trip down the chippy and Top of the Pops. Betsy and Clowance were the odd two out, they had come on the scene after that time. That time had passed. Things were better now. And Red and Blue were not just watching any old Top of the Pops, it was like a dream. They would be watching themselves in the same lounge they sat about watching it years gone. They unwrapped their food and laughed and ate. Clowance enjoyed her first meal from the chippy. Lashings of blackcurrant squash and bottles of beer were distributed. Blue and Ross clinked their bottles as a toast to both Poldarks conquering Top of the Pops and a meal of goodwill and cheerful chatter made them all feel light hearted. 

The bell rang. Hugh thought the London flat very small for a London house. He had not been in this area before. It was the sort of neighborhood that might see a renewal if developers tidied things up. Dem opened the door and Hugh found himself in a small hall, the lounge full of talking people a few scant steps away. "Hello, Hugh! Oh! What lovely flowers!" smiled Dem. Hugh settled a tremendous arrangement of red roses in Dem's arms. The scale of them in their frothy twist of green paper and elegant lace was quite oversized for so small a hall. She grinned over them as she held them in her arms. "Hello, ma fée, they are for you. I'm your stage door admirer as well as your bass player..." he joked. Dem popped round the edge of the lounge as Hugh came in to cheerful hellos and Blue called out "Just in time, mate! Come sit 'ere!" "I'm going to set these in a vase!" Demelza called over her shoulder. "Won't be a minute!" Hugh nodded his hellos, stepped over Garrick, admired Demelza's children, complimented Jinny's top and Betsy's dress, shook Ross' hand and plunked himself on the sofa next to Malcolm who sported a megawatt grin. "All down the lane, everyone's at Mam an' Da's 'ouse watchin' like it's the coronation!" Hugh smirk widened. "I expected no less, the McNeils gathered round the television to see their 'laddie' make good...!" Ross smiled. Even Hugh's posh demeanor could not cloak the sentimental note in his voice. He was proud too, but seemed happier to witness Malcolm and Demelza's happiness. Ross sensed Hugh enjoy a respite from jadedness in his tone. An old hand at this game, watching his artists move forward. The new and happy sensation of being a performer too and an affection for his band mates that made their age difference more pronounced, made Hugh seem a bit like doting uncle as well as their bass player. Ross was still a little leery of Hugh, not entirely comfortable over Hugh spending a great deal of his own money on the band, routinely buying things for Dem and Malcolm with a snap of his fingers, generously but an offhand manner, as if money were no object, the way he wrote in Dem's agenda book, treating her schedule book like an extension of his own empire, the offhand way he referred to his French performers as 'his ladies', the cold shield of his dark sunglasses. These things made Ross a bit ill at ease but his exchange with Malcolm showed more of a camaraderie and a respect for the drummer, a genuine friendship existing between them that heartened Ross to see. Dem returned and a cheer went up as the chart countdown announced "Afterburn" as number fourteen. Ross grinned. One expected the cheer was reproduced in Illugan and Scotland. The dancers were shown dancing in the studio and once that was done the announcer said. Here in her Top of the Pops debut, at number fourteen this week, Demelza Poldark performing 'Afterburn'!" Clowance and Jeremy bopped up and down on either side of Dem as she shared a proud grin with Ross. She turned to smile at Blue and Hugh, giggled a triumph with Jinny and Betsy and settled to watch a very respectable lip sync of "Afterburn" in the Top of the Pops studio. Ross gave a warm nod to Malcolm and Hugh, for it was their triumph too and then, before you knew it the song was done. "You were brilliant Dem!" crowed Jinny. "Smashing!" said Betsy, turning to Malcolm. "'Ere, Blue! You need to sign my autograph book now that you're a proper star!" They all laughed. Clowance stared at Mama with a delighted look of wonder. Television was strange. Mama was in the television and in the lounge as were Boo and Hoo with the dark glasses, at the same time! Ross stood, picked his way over Jinny's legs and Garrick's sleeping form. "I think that was a feather in your cap, Dem! Hugh?" Hugh looked to Ross. "Congratulations, sir, you three went from zero to a hundred! Top of the Pops right out of the starting gate!" Hugh's smirk widened. "Thank you, Ross." he turned to Malcolm, turned to Dem holding her children, looking at them but of course the sunglasses obscured his eyes. "One down, one to go!" said Hugh and Ross watched Dem smile her most radiant smile, to Hugh, to Malcolm who mirrored it with pride." Ross had a passing interest over Old Grey Whistle Test, a newer show that started in '71, caught it now and again, but Dem and Malcolm seemed more excited about this program than even Top of the Pops. Ross smiled. "Today Top of the Pops, tomorrow the world!" They cheered and had a good laugh. They went to the kitchen and sat around the table in a noisy repast of tea and cake; a plain vanilla sponge with white icing and a red glacé cherry plunked in its middle, no less delicious for being modest. "Who gets the cherry?" asked Jeremy, hopefully. Dem, knowing that was a gambit, did have to disappoint her son. "Hugh gets the cherry." smiled Dem. "He plucked Blue and me out of our rehearsal room and got us on the charts. That deserves a cherry!" Spontaneous applause as Hugh took a bow, removed the cherry from the center of the cake, showed it to all like a rajah's ruby and popped it in his mouth.

Demelza was crossing from the back corridor near the kitchen, back at Nampara, having retrieved her forgotten gardening gloves on her way out of doors. She was determined to weed some areas before she left for London to tape Old Grey Whistle Test and then onward to New York. She stopped in her tracks when she heard Jud and Prudie bickering. Bickering about her.

"Well ee can't tell 'er! Ee can't tell her now!"

"How long til she 'ear tell of it from some other folk! 'E was kissin' tha cow in the churchyard! If I could see it, who else might 'ave?! Master Ross be pawin' at 'er! Tryin' t'be walkin' 'er back t'Trenwith! Kissin' all over 'er face! Tsk."

"Ee can't tell the maid afore she go! Dem be all cock a hoop about this trip t'America! Ee can't fret 'er now! She's gonna be on the telly an' all! Dem's got som'ing of 'er own, all 'er own, Jud Paynter! Don't spoil it! Ee sat on un two week, ee can sit on un til she d'come 'ome!"

"Ee 'ave a point. Aye, that be a point. But she can't be in the dark, like. If Mistress Elizabeth be makin' a nuisance of 'erself again, if Ross be lookin' Trenwith way, t'ain't right for Dem t'be the last t'know."

Dem stepped further away, stopped listening. Jud and Prudie had stopped talking and Demelza quietly, numbly returned to the garden. She knelt to start weeding, weeding as if she had entered a dream. These were her hands. These were plants. She started to work in her garden. Tears splattered her gloves and rolled into the earth. Ross promised. Ross promised Elizabeth would not come between them again. Ross promises meant nothing. She sat back on her haunches as Garrick trotted over to her. She shifted to sit with her back to the house and numbly stroked his fur. Dem had found herself much as she'd begun, back to the wall, alone with her dog. _Don't tell lies. How old are you really?_ Dem began to cry in earnest. She could have sat for ten minutes or ten hours, she had lost all sense of time. Forsake all others... Ross' promises had often been hollow but she always chose to believe, believe that Ross would be true to her alone. 'This time' would be different. Ross' love was a drug, or a poison. A substance that made her irrational. Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Ross' love and his loyalty were decoupled. His love was real, his disregard of her was real. Ross promised... She washed her hands and face. Took a deep breath and went to the phone. "Hugh? Yes. No. I mean I am fine it's just we need to change the Whistle Test set. Yes. I know it isn't a lot of time but we can run through it a couple times at least, please? Can you call Blue? Yes. We'll meet at the rehearsal room like we planned. I'm not crying, I'm just a little tired. Yes. Thank you Hugh, goodbye." 

Hugh and Malcolm exchanged glances. Silently agreeing that something had happened to upset Demelza but it had lit a sort of fire under her. She was honing the last song of the set like a bird of prey. Neither man had seen this side of her. She was insistant that she was fine, thank you very much. She did not seem sad, just very sure that the Whistle Test set should be different, not wedded to the singles. Whistle Test was not like Top of the Pops, chart music was not necessary, performers often hadn't a song in the charts at all. The show was more interested in the wide array of the music scene had to offer. The producers of the program would not object and the set did still retain "Afterburn". Hugh acquiesced at once. He was willing to follow Demelza's lead. Malcolm worked to help Red build the sound she was after, the mood she was after. They were chasing what she knew to be true in her head, bringing it into reality and Malcolm's experience working with jazz musicians helped as well as their rapport from jamming together. Hugh had cause to be thankful he had met Red and Blue. Working with two musicians of their caliber was a privilege as the music shaped itself. Both men could see that something had gone wrong in her relationship with Ross. It was clear something was agitating her but it had tempered her rather than broken her. Hugh was in awe. Something in this situation was bringing out his own strengths. They were a tight unit and an irresistible energy cracked from their playing, from their not playing. The pauses were just as important. The drama of it and the scope within the song was astounding. Hugh silently thanked the universe for giving him the miracle Demelza Poldark. If she played at even half strength to what she was now, the television performance would be incredible. Jud and Prudie, having talked of Ross' carrying on with Elizabeth Warleggan, Chynoweth that was, and reached an agreement than Dem could not possibly be told of it before she went away to London and her trip to America never knew that their conversation had been overheard by their mistress and never dreamed that they would have a hand of changing the trajectory of her career. But that information, upsetting her greatly, had lit a fire under her that was nothing short of a phoenix shooting free of the flames. Dem, in the determination the salve her hurt feelings, brought a layer of seriousness to the television performance that could not have been anticipated from "Think Again", "Afterburn" or the articles and interviews to date. Orange Amps' sponsorship combined with this Whistle Test performance brought Dem a rock credibility that stood alongside her pop singles and gave her the rare situation of dual credibility. Adored by her pop loving fans and admired by the sort of musicians and critics who turned their noses up at "teenybopper" music. Even when some groused that she was too wedded to pop music no one disputed her guitar skills. Not long after, Lemmy Kilmister, bassist and leader of Mötorhead and former roadie for Jimi Hendrix mentioned in print "There aren't many guitarists that think for themselves these days. Sometimes you get a rare one like Ross Poldark's bird, Dem. That girl'll play anyone into the ground! Does what she wants and don't listen to no one! You get these blokes that go, 'diddle dee diddle dee diddle dee' (mimics a repetitive guitar solo). Pat themselves on the back! That's not new, that's safe! You need more guitarists that ain't afraid to take chances!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Heard It Through The Grapevine, Marvin Gaye 1968  
> (The 1967 Gladys Knight and The Pips version might have changed the pronouns to fit the story better but the slower tempo and creepiness of the Gaye version fits the mood more)
> 
> Ooh, I bet you're wonderin' how I knew  
> 'Bout your plans to make me blue  
> With some other guy you knew before  
> Between the two of us guys you know I love you more  
> It took me by surprise I must say  
> When I found out yesterday  
> Don'tcha know that I
> 
> Heard it through the grapevine  
> Not much longer would you be mine  
> Oh I heard it through the grapevine  
> Oh I'm just about to lose my mind  
> Honey, honey yeah  
> (Heard it through the grapevine)  
> (Not much longer would you be my baby, ooh, ooh, ooh)
> 
> I know a man ain't supposed to cry  
> But these tears I can't hold inside  
> Losin' you would end my life you see  
> 'Cause you mean that much to me  
> You could have told me yourself  
> That you love someone else  
> Instead I
> 
> Heard it through the grapevine  
> Not much longer would you be mine  
> Oh I heard it through the grapevine  
> And I'm just about to lose my mind  
> Honey, honey yeah  
> (Heard it through the grapevine)  
> (Not much longer would you be my baby, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
> 
> People say believe half of what you see, son  
> And none of what you hear  
> But I can't help bein' confused  
> If it's true please tell me dear  
> Do you plan to let me go  
> For the other guy you loved before?  
> Don'tcha know I
> 
> Heard it through the grapevine  
> Not much longer would you be mine  
> Baby I heard it through the grapevine  
> Ooh I'm just about to lose my mind  
> Honey, honey yeah  
> (Heard it through the grapevine)  
> (Not much longer would you be my baby, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
> 
> Honey, honey, I know  
> That you're lettin' me go  
> Said, I heard it through the grapevine  
> Heard it through the grapevine
> 
> Knock at the door, that's four/She kep'us quiet wi'a Beano!: Blue's mother gave them a comic book to look at in a neighborhood bingo hall. Bingo callers often used rhyming slang to announce the numbers and also as a call and response, he would say the rhyming phrase and the players would say the number in unison and merriment.


	12. Wrapped Around Your Finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OGWT, Stage A, 1978

The program provided them with large, round badges with The Old Grey Whistle Test logo, "The Starkicker" The silhouette of a man made of white dots kicking a larger star. Blue asked Red to pin it on his left shirt sleeve, a dark blue Liberty print with a repeat of tiny grey flowers that served to make the entire shirt look a lighter blue. It sat a little higher than where the sleeve was rolled up. Hugh still in his black trench coat over a charcoal grey, button down shirt and black trousers, put his on the strap of his bass. Demelza pinned hers to the hem of her short black dress. The sleeves were close fitting down to her wrists and it had a scooped neck with her gold 'D' necklace catching the light. Hugh laughed to see the badge pinned there and then looked down. Dem was standing with her Vox strapped on in just her footed black tights. "Demelza!" Hugh hissed in a baffled whisper. "Where are your shoes?!" Dem pointed to her shoes, sitting to the side by the wall on the floor. "I'm nervous about the pedal, Hugh," Demelza had not used a distortion pedal before and felt more secure to be able to feel it with her foot rather than have a shoe in the way. Hugh bit down on his disagreement. 'Let her have her way...' he thought. "Right." said Hugh. He smirked at them both. "Let's rock and roll!" said Hugh, his elegant accent somehow not taking away from the intent of the directive. A grin bloomed between the three of them. Hugh and Demelza with their guitars, Malcolm with his drumsticks tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. They were ready, armed and dangerous.

They took their places. Walked through a corridor to the entrance of the set. The studio had dark, black walls and was quite sparse. Behind the stage on the wall 'The Old Grey Whistle Test' was written in large white letters. Red and Blue were brought up short. They stood side by side, Red clutched Blue's wrist with a gasp and both their mouths fell open from the surprise of seeing that Hugh had requested that the green and yellow lights in the ceiling not be used so the white title was bathed in red light on one side and blue light on the other. They looked to each other in delight and then to Hugh who had just stood up from plugging in. Hugh grinned at them and his sunglasses reflected the lights. It was plain he'd arranged it for their benefit. It was plain they were appreciative of the flourish. They mounted the stage, not so high off the ground. The audience was in front of them and a second balcony was over those seats. There were already good natured hoots and clapping among murmurs of general chatter as the set up was under way and they took their places and gave a brief wave to the collection of mostly college age kids. Men held light meters by each of them, wires were checked along the floor, Blue was giving the drums a quick tippety-tap to be sure of his sound. Demelza and Hugh played to assure they were in tune and, as Ross had warned her, large cameras were constantly shuffled around, brought close and pulled away then back again, on wheeled stands, to get all the angles. She knew to perform to the audience, not to the cameras. Top of the Pops was good practice. Miming in a television studio let her get a feel for the camera operators without have to actually play. Now, with that experience under her belt, Demelza felt confident she could perform to the crowd and not get distracted by the taping. She turned to smile at Blue who gave her a jaunty salute and a sunny smile. They were about to perform on Old Grey Whistle Test, something neither of them would have dreamed of when they used to jam in Malcolm's old digs, a tatty, teeny London rehearsal room with grotty carpets at the walls for an attempt at sound proofing. Dem blinked a satisfied collusion with Blue and nodded to Hugh. Hugh nodded back with a smirk that Dem found comforting in a way. Hugh was ready and, more importantly exuded confidence that she and Blue were equal to the task in his chilly sort of way. He had the sentimentality to change the lighting for them, to bathe the stage in red and blue. Hugh had worked to put them where he thought they deserved to be. The smirk he often had was off putting to many who met him but Red and Blue came to understand it as his way of things and even felt the smirk convey a kind of warmth and a signal of things being "all present and correct", a default that meant all was well. A fervent rush of the floor crew to begin as the host stood at her mark on the floor to introduce them. They would be standing in the shot behind her as she spoke and she would exit for them to begin. The blonde woman had a wildly oversized cowl neck draped from a pale tan, midi knit dress and slender, cognac brown boots with a chunky block heel. They had spoken a little backstage and she had a tone in her voice that held an hint of amusement in hosting "'Thy Sweetness' herself" tonight. 'SILENCE!' signs lit up throughout the studio. They would begin the set at once and applause was only allowed at the end. A director pointed to the host. She spoke as if she was not reading from a cue card, very natural, conversational.

"If you've had a kiss under the mistletoe these past few years you may have our next guest to thank for it. Demelza Poldark, the muse behind her husband, Ross Poldark's song, 'Thy Sweetness', has struck out on her own and will perform three songs tonight with bassist Hugh Armitage and drummer, Malcolm McNeil. Here performing 'Afterburn', Demelza Poldark."

They began their set. Afterburn was a number of their own and they played it well. Originally the set was meant to continue the light poppiness and up tempo fun of the first song but Demelza had scrapped the idea and placed two very different songs for their revised Old Grey Whistle Test set. She introduced the next song which she sang a cappella."This one is, 'I'd Pluck A Fair Rose'..." The Vox hung loose after she plucked the right note to begin singing and stood holding the microphone stand with her right hand, her face relaxed and the cool, blue light over her making her eyes and the gold flecks in the finish of her guitar mysterious in their shine.

I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love

I'd a pluck a red rose blowin'

Love's in my heart,

I'm tryin' so to prove What your heart's knowin'

I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn

I'd a pluck a finger bleedin'

Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn

And your heart needin'

I'd a hold a finger to my tongue

I'd a hold a finger waitin'

My heart is sore, until it joins in song

With your heart matin' 

Hugh, standing with his black Hagstrom, red lights from overhead glinting on his sunglasses and Malcolm, seated at his kit tinted somewhat red and blue in the ambient light of the studio, watched her from their places and became as entranced as the audience as Demelza sang clear and true. It was a markedly different tone from their first song but it set the stage for the finale. She stepped back from the microphone, looked to Blue who nodded and Hugh who smirked to encourage her. She stepped on an effects pedal and spoke into the microphone, not the name of the song but an intro that began the performance. Demelza's eyes flitted around the room as she spoke. The image of Ross kissing Elizabeth seemed to hover in the air between her and the audience. Demelza spoke as if she was reciting a poem. "I'd say beware, wearing your heart on your sleeve in the open air," She paused, looked across the audience. "It will freeze..." said Dem. Her head turned towards Blue who started to play the sort of drum pattern one would hear at an execution. Stopping and starting as if the condemned was awaiting the death blow. And then suddenly he sped up, hit a cymbal and almost at once quieted it by grabbing the edge of it with his hand. She looked to Hugh and nodded. Hugh and Demelza started playing. Demelza's guitar was plaintive and soaring, it was the melody of the chorus as an elegant beginning. Blue played a shuffle style pattern that dovetailed with Hugh's bass as they both lay back to let Demelza take the lead. She strummed more basic chords. There was an angular quality as she sang to Blue and Hugh's accompaniment of her, a foreboding in it even as it matched what she was doing, she sang,

Black bird, black bird, tell me no lies

Tell me where did you sleep last night

In the pines, in the pines

Where the sun don't ever shine

I would shiver the whole night through

Her husband was a hard working man

Killed a mile and a half from here

His head was found in a driving wheel

And his body hasn't ever been found

It caused her to weep

It caused her to moan

It caused her to lose her mind

She thought of how she lost her man..., Here Demelza's singing turned to a whisper cracked by emotion

So brave, so gentle, so kind

Demelza played a solo with distortion, something she'd not done before. It was aggressive but her face was not angry. There was a lost, searching sort of look to her as she played. She played as if she hoped the universe would give her some sort of answer by the end of the song, looked afraid that might not be so and she would be left bereft. Blue and Hugh matched her, shot for shot, as they played their support of her underneath. Both looking serious, keeping their attention between them within the trio. The camera men might not have been there at all. She looked briefly to the pedal, briefly to her fingers and then stared forward, still playing and not looking at the Vox at all. The three of them had become a form of hypnotism. It was seductive and drew one in. Suddenly Hugh and Blue dropped out -silenced themselves, Hugh with a small step backwards and Blue holding his drumsticks left hand down and his right one resting in his fist over his heart, a subtle moment of drama caught by the camera as one plaintive, clear note soared from Demelza's Vox as if she was freeing a dove. Dem closed her eyes, turned her face to the neck of the guitar then turned her face away as if the note had pained her. She opened her eyes and startled the audience, staring at them as the studio went quiet again. Blue raised his sticks once more and the drum's executioner pattern returned, but just the once. Blue muffled the cymbal again. As if in a trance, the cycle began again. Blue and Hugh returned to the interplay of before and Demelza sang still staring forward for she did not need to look at her fingering. She looked fragile and possessed. The music was emanating from her and she looked in control and supernaturally out of control simultaneously. Their stagecraft had such strange and stirring interaction, dramatic movement the camera operators were ignored entirely by the audience. Dem was performing with a middle aged man quite near her Vox sometimes, for close ups. They crouched near, to catch Hugh's bass playing, caught his step back, and Blue's hand on heart as the red and blue lights stained upon him. The audience was enraptured and the business of taping it for broadcast was absorbed and fell away. The entire room was a magic boundary.

Now she wanders alone

Beneath the trees

She's happy to mourn her man

And the cold wind blows 

To chill her bones

And the sea mist 

Hangs over her head

Black bird, black bird, where will you go?

She goes where the cold wind blows

In the pines, in the pines

Where the sun don't ever shine...

Again, Blue and Hugh stopped playing. Demelza stared helplessly at the ceiling of the studio, her chin tilted up but still close to the microphone. She closed her eyes.

I would shiver the whole night..., She ducked her chin, eyes still closed and sung the final word with teased out in a clear note that held all of Cornwall in her voice.

...Through...

Malcolm clicked his sticks together four times and they played out the song from that silence with a blistering guitar line from Demelza, Hugh's steady bass line slowing down like a rundown clock and Blue running his hand across a strung set of chimes as if summoning everyone awake from a dream.

The audience sat stunned and silent for a few seconds before thunderous applause and cheering filled the room. Demelza smiled shyly, stepped back from the microphone stand and took her bow. She turned to Hugh and Blue and mouthed in the din of the audience's excited reaction, "Thank you."

They had a triumph. Hugh was practically slapping his boots over it(or his highly polished brogues). Blue and Red were proud and happy, enjoyed a late supper with Hugh in a posh restaurant and then Malcolm escorted Dem to the flat, stopping in a spell before going home himself. Not to a modest bedsit like days of yore, a proper apartment that Blue woke up surprised to be living in sometimes. Life was changing quickly. They had spun off a bit of the glamour of dinner and the energy of the performance and now were both at loose ends and a bit ill at ease. Blue was insistent that they record on his own kit in New York since it was the one they started out playing together on. This meant that it was being shipped to Hugh's townhouse in New York and Blue was in a state of anxiety, hoping nothing bad would happen to it. Hugh's cheerful admonishment not to worry, "Oh Malcolm, surely nothing will go wrong. And besides, they're insured!" made Malcolm more nervous, not less. Demelza was agitated and drained. She knew the performance had gone well and the adrenaline of giving her all while wrestling with her jealousy over Elizabeth took a toll. They sat in the lounge and Blue offered her a sweet but when she reached to pluck one from the bag Demelza's hand began to shake and she started crying. "Red..." Malcolm rushed to whisk some tissues from the box by the lamp. "Demelza, love... What's wrong?" He pressed the tissues in her hand she rested her forehead on her knees and cried harder. She knew Blue only used her real name when situations were serious. He lay his hand on her back. A steadying weight, a proof that he was near and wanted to help. She sat up to put her elbows on her knees, covered her eyes with her hands, pressing the tissues there as she wept in earnest. "Ee gave it all you got, love That'll pull all sorts out of ee, you 'ave a good ol' cry, Red..." said Malcolm, still supporting her back with his hand, motionless. He did not rub or caress her, he buttressed her. Steady. Loyal. At length she calmed herself. Dem sniffed, "Thank you, Blue." He nodded, brought his hand away. "Ee can talk t'me, love. Talk it out, if ee want..." Demelza looked down at her hands, her wedding ring. "I don't want to talk about it...." she said glumly. Malcolm nodded. "Aye, lass, but if ee change your mind, I'll listen..." She nodded. They called it a night and Blue told her to call him if she changed her mind, "Even if it be the wee small hours, love..." and went home. He held her tightly as he bid her goodbye as if his hug might remain with her after he had gone. Ross and the children were still at Nampara. The London flat was silent. She went to bed and considered the idea that she had spent her first night here on the third floor she was twelve years old. It seemed absurd. Perhaps it was absurd. Maybe she was only a placeholder. The consolation prize. A silly little girl who kept the loneliness of not having the woman Ross really wanted at bay. These were the thoughts she would not share with Blue or anyone. They embarrassed and shamed her.

Ross sat quiet in the parlor. Recovering. He felt pride, amazement and unease. Demelza's performance was exceptional but Ross sensed a rebuke within it. "In The Pines" was a traditional song from America. The lyrics were 'black girl' or 'my girl'. Her use of 'blackbird' seemed like some sort of answer back to Ross calling Dem a bluebird in his song. "Where did you sleep last night...?" Or was he imagining things? He was not in a position to ask her. Dem would not be back from America for three months. One thing was clear. Dem had zoomed past her previous level of musicianship in a double quick march. She was stunning. Her relationship with Hugh and Malcolm rivaled some of the best jazz and blues players Ross had seen. They weren't plodding along playing their parts. All three were interacting and watching each other for the sake of the songs in real time and adjusting themselves from one moment to the next. It was tremendous. Ross was proud of Dem but the Whistle Test set still left him feeling ill at ease. They had mended their fences. But there had been a slight chill, distraction to Dem recently. He chalked it up to the whirlwind of preparing for two television performances before leaving for New York. The folk song in between was the sort of song she often enjoyed but "In The Pines" had an almost apocalyptic charge and drama in it, something driving her mood, making her voice crack at certain points, thick with emotion. Maybe she still had her father's death on her mind...? Ross sat back, watching the short film the program synched to a Led Zeppelin song, an old 1930s musical set to modern music. Whistle Test often filled program time that way, an snippet of old movie or old black and white cartoons with a modern song dubbed over the footage. He watched the chorus of dancing girls go through their motions and wondered about Dem. She was in Manhattan having a grand adventure. Hugh booked time at Electric Ladyland. He seemed determined to do everything in a grand style. Malcolm and Dem were fortunate in their management. Ross kept thinking of the performance he'd just seen. Dem had a lot on her mind, lost a parent who's passing brought up a great deal of her childhood trauma back into the fore. Reunited with her brothers. All the lessons, voice, dancing, writing and recording. And success! A top 30 and a top 20 chart placement almost at once. Dem had a great deal happen in a small span of time. It stood to reason she would be pensive. "Where did you sleep last night..." Valentine would always be a pinprick in their marriage. She had a right to be unhappy over his dalliance with Liza. Was that it? Ross got up and turned of the television. Liza said she had seen Dem and Malcolm in London. It didn't occur to him to wonder if they had words. Dem didn't mention speaking to Elizabeth. Ross sighed. He was over thinking things. Dem's Whistle Test set was a triumph. The last song was bothering him. Perhaps that was why she held back showing him what she was doing. Maybe all their former troubles had been grist for the mill. That was her right, as an artist, as a wife. Ross went upstairs. Looked in on the children who were fast asleep and readied for bed himself. He lay his head on his arms, stared up into the dark. Dem's set was marvelous. It was disquieting. Ross, in a general sense, knew what Dem was capable of. He taught her guitar and watched her learn. He watched her grow. Ross watched her solo tonight in a state of utter excitement. She had eclipsed him in a way for she brought an emotional charge to her performance he couldn't ever manage, so closed up in himself and edgy. Ross could play the same notes if he cared to, mimic the solo, but it would never have what she had given it. It was pride that he felt in that moment but he did start to wonder what _exactly_ had brought the gravitas of her playing to the surface. He felt that Dem had been withdrawn recently, poking up her head like a sheep from behind a fence. He had no answers. Couldn't have them anytime soon. She was across the sea. They were on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. He would have kissed her that night, had she not been in London en route to New York. He would have told her how wonderful they were, as a group. How wonderful she was that night. How proud he was of her. Not press her for explanation, Ross wasn't sure what brought that out of her but it would be her decision to disclose it. She had been very close, closed mouthed about the work they were doing. The singles, when he did hear them, held no special mystery, good, strong songs that gave no hint of what was to come. Whistle Test had been a revelation, Dem live with her band and serious as a heart attack. Watching 'In The Pines' made Ross conscious of emotional lights and shades in Dem that could not be categorized, could not be named as sensuous or emotional as such, perhaps derived from each and gave to each but in essence grew out of a deeper fund of temperament that Ross still couldn't altogether comprehend. His simple West Country girl was not simple in character at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapped Around Your Finger, The Police 1983
> 
> You consider me the young apprentice  
> Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes  
> Hypnotized by you if I should linger  
> Staring at the ring around your finger
> 
> I have only come here seeking knowledge  
> Things they would not teach me of in college  
> I can see the destiny you sold turned into a shining band of gold
> 
> I'll be wrapped around your finger  
> I'll be wrapped around your finger  
> Mephistopheles is not your name  
> I know what you're up to just the same  
> I will listen hard to your tuition  
> You will see it come to its fruition  
> I'll be wrapped around your finger  
> I'll be wrapped around your finger
> 
> Devil and the deep blue sea behind me  
> Vanish in the air you'll never find me  
> I will turn your face to alabaster  
> When you'll find your servant is your master
> 
> You'll be wrapped around my finger  
> You'll be wrapped around my finger  
> You'll be wrapped around my finger
> 
> The OGWT presenter announcing Dem's set was Annie Nightingale


	13. New York State Of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big apple

Hugh called his cook, "Cook". Red and Blue found this eccentric but did not quibble over it. Malcolm, who had not been raised in a house with servants and Demelza who was, one could argue, raised by servants in Nampara were puzzled by Hugh's impersonal attitude until he happened to explain that he so seldom came to New York he declined to keep staff on for the house. He hired a cook and his housecleaning from an agency and never had the same people twice. The cooks were, to a woman, Black southerners who had a grasp of British cuisine and were unfazed by Hugh addressing them so. "Cook" was actually Mrs. Johnson. Mr. Armitage was a plum assignment when he had need of the agency's assistance. He payed above average for light work, was unfailing polite and respectful for all he declined to learn their names and looked like a vampire with his dark sunglasses, mysterious comings and goings and peculiar books. Mrs. Johnson was charmed by Malcolm and Demelza calling her "Ma'am" in an unaffected politeness. Enjoyed their curiosity about where she was from and listening to their exploits as they chatted with her should they happen to be in the kitchen eating, in search of a beverage or taking tea while she was tending other responsibilities. They spoke of recording music and exploring different parts of New York City. The pair were friendly and went to all sorts of places she never thought to go to like Chinatown. They were just as likely to go to the fancier parts of midtown as the grottier parts of the Lower East Side with the same sense of adventure and fun in whatever place. The Scottish boy had been to the Apollo Theater and other parts of Harlem she'd never have believed to look at him and that was another reason to look upon both of her employer's guests with affection. These two were cute and the girl was a darling. Polite with children and a husband back in England, working here much like she was; up North with her family in South Carolina. She liked the job very much and looked forward to the next three months.

Hugh had established an absurd per diem, far more money per day than Malcolm thought sensible until he realized that Hugh took cabs _everywhere_! (Hugh, meanwhile, considered himself frugal and a "proper" New Yorker who eschewed retaining his own driver or town car service in his use of taxis to get around.) That was not how Malcolm lived when he was a New Yorker. Malcolm had cause to want to save his money, walk or use the subway to get were he needed to be, using cabs if he had to take drums with him(for he surely wouldn't take drums on the subway) or get somewhere double quick. Sometimes cabs were slower going because traffic would jam. It was a new sort of freedom to wave your hand and get whisked off the pavement to wherever you were going and Red and Blue soon took to it like a duck to water and even using taxies, plenty of money besides remained, for meals and for treats. Their gear was magicked into Hugh's house with a snap of his fingers. He marched into Manny's Music Store, watched Red play an Ovation guitar in store when the salesman got her goat, thinking she couldn't play two notes and talking to Hugh like he was her babyminder, and then Hugh bought out the shop! He spent a packet in Frank Wolf too and got a proper Ludwig kit for Malcolm to use in his house since his own kit would be in Ladyland. Red and Blue needn't pay a penny for gear and could shop, for clothes, for records anything they fancied instead! Malcolm touched base with the musicians still about who he socialized with back when he was doing session work and introduced Hugh and Demelza to many different people. Time was booked at Electric Ladyland, a top recording studio and Hugh spread their schedule in a generous way that made everyday a vacation or an adventure even though they were getting work done.

They worked hard and played hard. When they weren't writing or practicing or recording they were exploring all the city had to offer. Hugh found himself in a hole in the wall dumpling house in Chinatown, all white Formica and clouds of steam billowing behind the counter, with loud conversation and banging preparation, of chopping knives, of woks and metal implements, and staff that wiped the vacant tables clean with hot jasmine tea and a rag. The dumplings were wonderful and Hugh was struck by the combinations of flavor and the taste jasmine tea, sophisticated pairings that wouldn't be out of place in a more upscale establishment. Red and Blue ate in a formal Japanese restaurant, cleaned up nice in a proper suit and a pretty dress, where their shoes were left outside the room where they dined seated on the floor. Hugh was amused to watch Malcolm and Demelza marvel at each sculptural, finely wrought course of sliced vegetables and artfully arranged fish and meat and, be baffled but willing to drink sake in pale wooden boxes rather than glasses, learn chopsticks rather well (even as Blue drummed with his at first) and, later, trying to dance in the traditional way of the entertainer as a musician played the shamisen. The dancer laughed, slowed her movements to help them learn and they marched around the perimeter of the small dining room, claping their hands like follow the leader as she sang in Japanese along with the shamisen player. Hugh laughed like a drain though he would not dream of doing such a thing. He remained at the table but Hugh still joined in, in a way, with his laughter and was grateful that the woman indulged them without irritation. But, as they left, the maître d complimented Hugh on his sophisticated guests, one of the few western patrons that participated in the true geisha style. Hugh was amused to find his polite appreciation of the entertainment was common and excepted but his bandmates' curiosity and sense of fun, to get up and try to dance too, was quite like Japanese business men who let their hair down with singsongs and good humor and charmed the performers heartily. Hugh had been a New Yorker for some time, but he found himself learning more about a city he thought he knew well in a trip with Malcolm and Demelza's company. Hugh was enjoying himself. He liked seeing different parts of the city. He liked watching Malcolm and Demelza react to new things in their own ways. He wanted to laugh at their remarks more than Hugh allowed himself but laughter graced their days too. They talked of everything they saw, things they had remembered from elsewhere, other times in their lives. They became proper friends in this trip. They accepted their different outlooks on life, Hugh so formal in his wealthy upbringing and Parisian life, Dem in her new experiences in a new town, Malcolm as an old hand in a more rough and tumble New York life. They let themselves try each other's outlook, the city through the virgin lens of Demelza, Hugh learning the modest places and habits of Malcolm's haunts. Malcolm and Demelza becoming used to being waited on, used to multi course, formal dining and fancy shops that had the lush scent and silence of a privileged clientele. Hugh eased Red and Blue into upmarket situations as he learned to eat in Chinatown or look through grotty plastic milkcrates of second hand records -and find some proper gems! They made their own supper on Sunday when cook was off. This was a new experience for Hugh who relied on fine dining and only really shopped for his breakfast or elegant snacks. They would shop for what they fancied at Balducci's, a store Malcolm had never been in and Malcolm introduced Hugh to his first Gristedes a workaday supermarket that Hugh had never been in. All of these places, high and low, were new to Dem and she was amazed at the breadth of New York City and how so many different people inhabited the jam packed, colorful, dirty place full of sights, sounds and never boring even when the night streets were quieter. She liked this place, even though it was awash with litter and grimy from exhaust from all the traffic. The first night Dem washed her face she gasped aloud at the dark water left in the white porcelain bowl of the sink, the soil that didn't show in the mirror but settled upon her face as she walked through an ordinary day. In the same way all three of them were different strata, Hugh upper class, Demelza half small gentry, half working class and Malcolm working class and proud of it, New Yorkers, rich and poor seemed all jumbled up here. A unassuming person could be quite wealthy. A man might be poor enough to wear a discarded bathrobe as his only garment. A woman made up like a movie star might actually be a man. A woman in a plain coat, care worn at the edges might be an heiress. Demelza was crossing a street downtown with Malcolm at her side Hugh not far behind, waiting for the traffic light to say, "WALK" rather than "DON'T WALK" and happened to look through the window of a tiny, laundromat in time to see and elderly woman, sitting in a chair by the door in an old fashioned blouse, yell abuse at a passerby in an Irish accent as deeper in the store behind her a Buddhist monk dressed wrapped in robes shook out the robes he was retrieving from the washing machine. The robe he wore, the one flapping in his hands and the old woman's blouse were all the same color orange! In this tatty laundrette, across the street, on this corner of an Avenue simply named "A", in one place and time but seemingly an ordinary day in this extraordinary city where watching laundry in progress becomes a visual poem. And then the light changed. They crossed the street, Dem holding Malcolm's hand, Hugh at her side in his dark glasses. Dem felt the city become a part of her imagination. A grist for new ideas, a new sensation, a sense of promise. The newspapers trumpeted crime and celebrity. The streets promised something new to see on every block. The noise, the dirt, the glittering wealth, the pitiful poverty, the hustling, bustling populace in every square inch. All who rushed to and fro, all going where they were going, all traversing the city like their own Maypole ribbon, weaving in and out among everyone else until they wound them round into becoming New York City. Dem looked to Blue and smiled, looked to Hugh and smiled. They were wending their ribbon through this place too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New York State Of Mind, Billy Joel 1976
> 
> Some folks like to get away  
> Take a holiday from the neighbourhood  
> Hop a flight to Miami Beach  
> Or to Hollywood  
> But I'm taking a Greyhound  
> On the Hudson River Line  
> I'm in a New York state of mind
> 
> I've seen all the movie stars  
> In their fancy cars and their limousines  
> Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens  
> But I know what I'm needing  
> And I don't want to waste more time  
> I'm in a New York state of mind
> 
> It was so easy living day by day  
> Out of touch with the rhythm and blues  
> But now I need a little give and take  
> The New York Times, The Daily News
> 
> It comes down to reality  
> And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide  
> Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside  
> I don't have any reasons  
> I've left them all behind  
> I'm in a New York state of mind
> 
> It was so easy living day by day  
> Out of touch with the rhythm and blues  
> But now I need a little give and take  
> The New York Times, The Daily News
> 
> It comes down to reality  
> And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide  
> Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside  
> I don't have any reasons  
> I've left them all behind  
> I'm in a New York state of mind
> 
> I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line  
> 'Cause I'm in a New York state of mind
> 
> spent a packet at Frank Wolf: Frank Wolf Drummers Supplies, a stones throw from Manny's. 48th Street at 7th Ave. used to house "Music Row", lots of music and instrument shops near each other.
> 
> Maypole: a tall pole with long ribbon streamers hanging side by side to celebrate the first day of May. When individual dancers each take hold of the end of a ribbon and dance in a circle, weaving in and out the ribbons are braided together down the pole until the ends are used up.


	14. Native New Yorker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The naked city

Malcolm was an old hand at getting around Manhattan. He had lived here as a session player and his sense of curiosity and adventure meant he did not keep to his downtown digs alone. Blue knew all the various parts of the city and made a point of showing Red and Hugh some of the local color. Hugh had requested that Malcolm escort Demelza to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and rather than take a taxi as Hugh routinely did, Blue and Red took the subway at Union Square at 14th Street to 86th Street. Red stayed near Blue for the trains were grubby and covered with strange, loopy scribbles of spray paint, on the walls, on the advertisements, the seats themselves! It was an authentic piece of New York that made Dem a little ill at ease. It was stale smelling in the stations, stuffed and busy with New Yorkers of all stripes, one felt swept up the exit stairs like a leaf in a river's flow, everyone pouring up the cement steps so quickly you might be trod upon if you stood still. Malcolm seemed to take it in stride but Dem found the subway dank and dark and a little scary. Once back overground, the area exploded into a busy shopping district with large stores and small boutiques that were cheek by jowl with modest luncheonettes and candy stores. Malcolm started crossing the avenues and a change came over everything. Brick buildings with elegant glass doors with doormen like their rehearsal room, doctor's offices with brass plaques announcing the credentials of the physician, residences with masses of apartments a grid of little buttons to push to ring the people who lived there and let you in were set by the doors like saying "Open sesame!", It was quieter than the subway exit. The churn of shoppers and subway riders started to thin. Further ahead trees were seen, the leaves changing to pretty yellow and orange in their autumn splendor. The walk up ahead ahead suddenly seemed barred by a stone wall across the street. "That's Central Park! We turn left, an' the museum's down that side..." They crossed the street and turned. The park had entrances a various points to step off the sidewalk and walk a path into the park and foot traffic picked up once more. To their left by the curb was a colorful bazaar of cartoonists who offered to sketch the portraits of passersby, men minding tables of souvenirs, hot dog carts with their pungent smell of salted meat, mustard and grotty old yellow and blue umbrellas jutting out exclaiming SABRETT at their scalloped flaps. Artists selling Jackson Pollock looking paintings, hoping the glamour of being purchased in the shadow of a major art institution would be enough to overlook their mass produced provenance. Bins of quarter sized movies posters, in plastic sheets stiffened by pieces of cardboard were on offer to brighten the walls of your room. Postcards set in racks to send to your friends with landmarks pictured on them. Men who offered jewelery on trays and stands padded with black velvet on small tables trailing clips decorated with beads and feathers that looked as if they might be hair ornaments down their sides, and mirrors to satisfy vanity until Blue explained the clips were meant to hold marijuana cigarettes and the mirrors were to hold cocaine. Taxies and cars, buses letting off masses of exhaust went by in a steady stream. The buildings on the other side of the street were highly decorated, important looking institutions, of medicine, of other countries' consulates, facing the park in their serious self importance. The hum and business of daytime Manhattan was exhilarating and Dem felt herself become part of the rhythm of the place, a sort of euphoria humming through her, walking alongside Blue, feeling a bit like a New Yorker too. New York was a theater of the streets. There were lavishly dressed people of all ages who stood out like butterflies amidst all the workaday citizens. Kids on the street corners loudly talking as if they were the most important people in the world. Men dragging full racks of clothes on wheeled racks darting amongst cars right in the streets. Bicycle messengers zipping around narrowly missing pedestrians and making cabbies shake their fists at them in annoyance. Dancers and people who could do tricks on roller skates and passed a hat after their vivacious performances. Tourists from every country looking as wide eyed at everything as Dem did. And, very often, men who flirted and yelled compliments or chat up lines at women the saw on the street. In England, usually it was only men working on building sites who might phowar and whistle at women as they passed. Here, many men often felt bold enough to call out to women they passed on the street. Some women seemed to relish the attention and put their chins up a bit in vanity. Some scolded or turned up their noses, ignoring the brutes. Malcolm's escort, holding her hand, having his arm around her, meant that men who catcalled other women in the street did not catcall Dem. Men would whistle at her if she was wearing her boots sometimes but even then it seemed agreed upon to be as much as the guy could get away with for a girl with a "boyfriend". What seemed strange to people in London was quite absorbed in New York, like a rule, here. If you had your arm around a girl she was off limits and men would look for some other girl to holler at. It was no different to how she went around with Blue in London but made better sense here. It occurred to Dem that Blue's conception of women "being looked after", "having a bloke by you", taking her arm, holding her hand was more of a New York attitude he'd acquired from having lived here where the minute you stepped on the pavement you were in close contact with hundreds of strangers, eye to eye, near enough to catch a whiff of their perfume or even their breath. Pickpockets were common for they could use the crush of people to secret their thieving. Children's heads might skim past your elbow as they ran with their pals elsewhere. It was a busy place. "Oh!" said Malcolm in surprise. "Will ee look at that line! I dunno what's on, but that's a deal of folk!"

What was on, at the Met, was the spanking brand new Temple of Dendur, an Egyptian temple in its entirety placed in the dazzling Sackler Wing, an indoor space bright from one side of it being a wall of windows, flooding the huge gallery with natural light and a moat of water around it as the crown jewel of the Egyptian rooms. It was a feather in the museum's cap and the warm up for next year's exhibition of The Treasures of Tutankhamen. Many wanted to see the new attraction and Red and Blue took their place on line that filed past the pretty water fountains along side the building and up the stairs, wide stairs like a staggered public square. So gigantic that people could sit in small groups, here and there, and not obstruct others from getting into the museum. "They let ee pay what you fancy! Ee could even pay a penny and they'd 'ave to let you in!" said Blue with a chuckle. Dem's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I wouldn't have the nerve to offer a just a penny!" The line wound around a huge hall with a large, round information desk with a grand staircase beyond it. Benches for patrons to meet up and rest, another snaking line for the cloakroom off to the left and the original line to get in broke off into smaller ones to pay admission. Having agreed that five dollars was sensible they each were given a flat metal button with a tab to wear in a button hole or by one's collar to prove to guards the fee had been paid, printed with a white 'M' and color coded for each day, not allowing scofflaws to pretend they paid with the button from a previous visit. Since everyone was streaming in that direction, Red and Blue also made their way to the Egyptian rooms and enjoyed looking at all the ancient objects. The strange noisy echo of murmuring voices in the large museum were very often punctured by Demelza and Malcolm commenting about what they were seeing and laughing. The lilting pleasantness of Demelza's voice and gregarious comment of Malcolm, chatting over all these various objects and laughing together was becoming an entertainment to many patrons that day. One of these started to wonder who these people were, a difficulty when the halls were divided into antechambers and the galleries were so large. The woman, artfully dressed in a black knit, jersey tunic with a wide silk scarf, all greens and golds and blues swirling, draped around her neck and obscuring most of her torso. Her black boots were in the equestrian style. Her hair was cut short, her jewelry, earrings, bracelets, were the thick, primitive sort that was almost unattractive but for its obvious costliness. She went through rooms full of broken statues, glass vitrines full of small objects, chattering tourists and the 'clip clop' of everyone's shoes on the floor echoing. She listened carefully and went in and out of the various antechambers that held masses of small treasures in their thousands. Racks and racks, behind glass, of amulets, statuettes, jewelry and many ancient articles that were left in the tombs of the dead. Items that were meant to make the afterlife comfortable. She knew she was getting closer when she heard, "Look at them raisins! If ee washed 'em clean you wouldn't know they was old!" She turned into the next room and their, holding hands was a darling couple, a dark haired man and red headed woman, college age, maybe? They looked young but definitely past high school. He looked delicious, as did she and they were the type she liked best. Young and broke. They wore their clearly second hand coats unbuttoned rather than checking them in the cloakroom. Sometimes that was pragmatic to avoid having to wait in line to retrieve them to leave the museum but she suspicioned from his working class accent that they were the sort that were worried to be parted from their coats, a little frightened of cloakrooms, worried they might lose their coats in a big institution and that meant having no coat, too cash poor to get another one. She _loved_ kids like that... The girl was giggling and they seemed very cute together. They seemed pliable, maybe. "You two are Scottish? Students?" They turned to look at her, to answer, and she inhaled in a sudden coveting urge. They were adorable. They turned their heads quite at once and looked so open, so unassuming, they were a couple that were close, it was obvious. 'They must look incredible...' she thought. The woman smiled. Dem answered, "No, Blue is Scottish, I'm English." The woman raised her eyebrows a little. Was that his given name? Scottish name? The woman nodded. "At school...?" Malcolm shook his head. "Nay. We's 'ere a few months, workin'..." With a nonchalant attitude the woman said, "I'm a gallery owner, art gallery. I'm always on the lookout for interesting people. Have you seen much of Soho?" Malcolm shook his head. "I been about the neighborhood by Chinatown but I ain't been round there." Dem shook her head too. "I don't know the city too well..." The man turned to his girlfriend. "That's up from the clothes store we was at the other day..." The woman was happy. Two cute young people pinching their pennies in Canal Jeans... They were definitely a show she wanted to see and experience. "You say you're working in the city...?" "Aye," said Malcolm. "We're musicians. Makin' an album!" She laughed a little, musicians. That was as good as it gets, the lifestyle... She said, "I have a party happening to night, just a get together, nothing heavy," she looked them up and down. "It's an arty set, artists, writers, models. We don't have musicians so often." They nodded, affably. The woman was unassuming in her nice clothes and pleasant demeanor. You meet all sorts in New York. She looked hopeful as she asked. "Do you swing?" Malcolm, who thought she meant music and Dem who also was not aware what the woman was suggesting, believing she meant music too, smiled. 'Swing' was quaint, old fashioned, one thought of the old jazz bands and old movies. Still proud of their studio sessions going so well, still proud of their Whistle Test performance Malcolm said with pride, tilted his chin up a bit in his pride. "Nay! We don't swing, WE ROCK!" and Dem giggled again. The woman, who was asking if they partake in group sex, thought they were bragging that they were used to the scene and superior participants, grinned in a way that should have given Red and Blue pause but she had looked down into her handbag. She produced a card. "This is the address. Anytime after nine, we get going for real around midnight..." She handed the card to Dem who smiled politely, and nodded as she put it in her coat pocket. "Thank you. Maybe we'll be by! I'm trying to see as much of the city as I can..." The woman smiled. "I'm Gabrielle," They shook hands. "Even if you don't make it over tonight, we are usually up for it weekend nights. You can call that number to see if anything's happening. With a jaunty step, happy to believe her evening had improved considerably, she walked off to retrieve her coat.

The museum was certainly grand as well as having such a different feeling to London. The Americans and the proper New Yorkers were much more open than museum goers in Britain they would strike up conversation with a total stranger about what they were viewing sometimes. Some were awed by what they saw, some were professorial, knowing some fact or another with a hint of self satisfaction that they can bestow their wisdom. Some just wanted to know about you and it was fun to feel so open. Everyone had an opinion and some felt no embarrassment to put themself forward if they chose. Dem decended the steps of the museum with Malcolm in a cheerful mood. They decided the walk in Central Park while it was still daylight, then catch a bite to eat and check out that party. Hugh had nothing planned this evening for he was in meetings and suggested they have their own fun.

Hugh, meanwhile, had returned to his townhouse not from a meeting as he had told his bandmates but from the specialist physician he had sought to receive a second opinion and consultation. The temptation to put the bed covers over his head like a toddler age child and hide from reality was rejected. He sat at his desk, forlorn. Not only was the diagnosis correct the timeline Hugh could hope for was discouraging. 'Four albums' was his usual plan. He would be lucky to manage two. Just when things were taking off. Just when he felt secure as the third member of their band. He stood back up and went to retrieve Grandpapa's copy of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, not to read it but to hold it like a talisman. Hugh's Grandpapa had taken the small green, leather bound tome to the front when others might have chosen to bring a bible. The corners were brittle and one was broken off showing a sharp triangle of the cream colored paper inside. It was fragile enough that Hugh rarely handled it but he did so now. Wanting to hold a piece of Grandpapa's courage and hoping some might rub off on him. Hugh's grandfather had cherished him and brought him about in the marvelous world of New York City when London and the rest of Europe were still struggling to find their feet after the destruction and post-war rebuilding after World War II, the young men's war, not the far away days of Grandpapa's military career. A bohemian world of French films, watching Russian immigrants of modest means beat NYU professors soundly in the tiny chess store in Greenwich Village. Accompanying him to book row, down Fourth Avenue, where print dealers and second hand book were to be found and pleasurable hours of browsing could turn up a rare, valuable title for a song. In midtown where serious dealers sold serious books to a rarefied clientele, expense no object to secure the heart's desire. Galleries and antique sellers, Samuel Weiser where serious students of the occult and esoteric met to discuss their findings with like minds as well as purchase historically important titles in these subjects. Grandpapa always kept his beloved grandson near and relished showing him all that was beautiful in the world at large and the world of the mind. He valued the fact that Hugh would have a life of art and culture without the puncture of war. Young men were no longer pressed into service by rote and Hugh would be the first Armitage to live for himself, freed of the horrors of war and the barbarism men were capable of. Hugh's Grandpapa told him more than once that the little green copy of the Rubáiyát was the one thing that saved him from despair in his time at the front. It was the flame that kept him going. The medals and accolades for his distinguished service paled against this small book of poetry and gave him the strength to do what needed to be done in a world of horrors. Hugh reclined in his chair staring at the ceiling with the book clutched at his heart. Should he waste what vision he had staring at the ceiling? He smiled ruefully. If he was one foot in the tomb, he might as well live to the hilt. Hugh closed his eyes. The Rubáiyát over his heart.

Malcolm woke the next morning feeling like his sinuses were set on fire, like setting a match to tissue paper. It was a horrible, elastic sort of pain. His head hurt. He felt like a dried up husk. The daylight in the room was brighter and proved he had over slept. He rolled over feeling like someone had ground him under heel like a cigarette butt. Malcolm had a vague remembrance of having had a shower. He had a vague remembrance of... _Christ! I kissed Red!_ Malcolm stared out bleakly from his pillow. He kissed Red in the taxi on the way back from that mad party. Malcolm put the covers over his head, mortified. He had to face Red. He hadn't meant to kiss her, it... It just sort of happened! They was drunk but that wasn't any sort of excuse, really. He had better sense than to try it on with Red. "Fuckin' hell..." murmured the cloth covered lump that was a deeply embarrassed Malcolm. Dem blinked a gratitude to Cook who set a steaming cup of beef tea in front of her. "Mr. Armitage say you got a hangover, that will set you right!" Dem smiled weakly. Even feeling as wretched as she did she had cause to wonder if there was some sort of fairy land that dispatched nurturing women like Cook, like Prudie, all over the world where they were needed. "Thank you, ma'am." It was soothing to drink. Dem was unhappy. She and Blue left the party once they realized an orgy was happening. The party went from being normal to quite abnormal quickly. They had drunk too much and in the cab she had kissed him. She hadn't thought, 'I'm going to kiss him', it just... just sort of happened! They were sozzled in a way she had not ever been before. Dem hadn't been knocking it back, she thought, but they stumbled out of the loft and up Broadway, in the most drunken state she'd ever been in. They had to hold each other up at points. She did fall down. Plunked down on the pavement, cracking up laughing. They had a comedy of errors as Blue tried to help her up. He pulled her up by holding her hands, trying to help her stand even as he was unsteady. Two people passed in the opposite direction tsked, "Amateur night!" But they could help themselves. Blue was laughing just as hard. He was as drunk as she was and it was an adventure to get home. They wandered up to Houston Street where it was easy to hail a taxi for a gas station and a car wash were across the street from each other. The red tail lights and changing traffic lights all blazed like comets, trailing in streaks as the cars passed, as the lights changed. They got a taxi and Blue slurred their destination to the cabbie in such a helpless sounding way Dem burst into more laughter. The driver went up Lafayette to bring them to Hugh's townhouse by driving straight where that street became Fourth. Near Union Square, she and Blue were still giggling. They had made their escape. They left the party having had run the gauntlet of many people having sex in every sort of configuration possible. Blue came stumbling to her to tell her they must leave as she was staring at the goings on. They looked from one side of the huge room to the other and laughed like a drain. To get to the door to leave they had to pick their way around knots of shocking behaviour! They sat giggling in the back seat of the cab. Blue was near and laughing and... She took advantage of his drunkeness. Blue would never try to kiss her. People looked askance at the way she held his hand when they walked together. Ross didn't like the way she held Blue when they watched TV. Dem did not worry over these things. Dem trusted Blue. He always kept a bright line between their closeness and any hint of impropriety. He was loyal to her and would not compromise her. She compromised him. She kissed him in a moment of weakness. Dem sulked over her cup of beef tea. Malcolm entered the kitchen and sat down. "Boss say you was havin' a wild night..." Malcolm nodded. "You 'ave this here," Cook gave him a mug of broth as well. "Ta, ma'am. I ain't 'alf got a pounder!" The Scottish boy nodded to his friend. "Mornin', Red," The girl blinked up at him. "Good morning, Blue," She looked between them. It was clear they were shy of each other today. "You two drink that down, that gonna set you right..." and she went to contrive light dusting in other rooms. Her boss' charges seem to need time to themselves. The party they attended might have made trouble between them if their glum body language was correct, and the girl was married. That the boss asked her advice about hangover cures when she arrived and went out to buy the makings for beef tea immediately struck her as being very concerned for his young friends. Cook wondered if he knew there was a drama brewing. They were content friends and very light hearted pals. Cook was certain it was not just drink troubling them this morning. They were seated further apart than she'd ever seen them in her short acquaintance and could barely look at each other. A far cry from their usual, chatter and close proximity. Cook left the kitchen. "Malcolm looked to Red, but she was looking at him and his eyes went right back down to his mug. Dem looked at Blue, who suddenly looked at her and back away. They suddenly both said, "I'm sorry, Blue," "I'm sorry Red, I weren't tryin't," They looked at each other then. There were two problems, of course. Neither person thought the other was to blame and both found the kiss _delicious_. They both felt guilty and sorry and now in possession of a dangerous knowledge. That kiss was delicious... Being inebriated had no bearing on memory in this regard. They sat silent, each trying to think through their apology and in that moment Hugh entered. He looked them up and down as he went to the refrigerator. "Are you feeling better? You two gave me a scare last night!" "Aye..." said Malcolm. "Mmmumph... " said Demelza. Hugh smiled sympathetically. "It could happen to anyone! Especially these days, it's practically like ancient Rome in the clubs now..." Hugh turned to the refrigerator, leaning in to get the pitcher of water and suddenly stood back up, alarmed. They looked guilt ridden after being dosed to their back teeth at a SOHO sex party. Did something happen? He turned to them again and they blinked back at him with a kind of misery on their faces. Hugh wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he had a responsibility to find out. "Are you alright?" Silence "Did something go wrong? Were you harmed at that party?" Malcolm and Demelza looked at each other as if to decide who would speak first. As it happened they spoke simultaneously. "I kissed Red." "I kissed Blue." Hugh's eyebrows raised. Had they succumb? Finally? Quietly he asked, "And then...?" They looked at him, puzzled. Malcolm said "We stopped." Hugh looked from one face to the other. "You're saying you kissed at the party?" "No, we kissed in the taxi coming back." Demelza said glumly. Hugh fought the urge to laugh. "You're saying that you left an orgy in a loft party, off your gourd on whatever drugs you got slipped there, and all you managed to do is snog in the taxi?" Hugh closed his eyes and smirked. If he didn't keep his mouth bitten down on that smirk he would laugh aloud and he could see their irritated glare at his mirth over them. They were too cute to be real. Hugh cleared his throat in a second attempt not to laugh. "Look, you two are good friends and good people, you wouldn't be human if you didn't fancy each other a little. A kiss isn't the end of the world. You weren't in your right minds last night!" They continued to look glum over their mugs of broth. "Oh, don't look so tragic! Drink up your broth while it's hot and forgive yourselves. Don't let something that silly come between you!" They took a tentative glance at each other but looked away again. Hugh tried again. "Demelza, kissing Malcolm off your face on drugs is not your fault or his fault. It's just an unfortunate silliness of whatever the hell they gave you." He looked at them both, exasperated. "You both need to put last night behind you. You are very lucky you only ended up with a hangover. There's a lot of dangerous drugs about, it could have been much worse." Hugh watched them nod 'yes' with a sigh. One difference in their stations in life was the moralistic attitudes about sex upper class people like Hugh often rejected out of hand. He had a deep amusement in finding them flummoxed by a book of Rops in his office. There was something very cute over two grown people so disconcerted by giving each other a kiss. They were honest to a fault with that middle class/working class unshakable conception of what is "right" and what is "wrong", that people of means and sophistication considered malleable, beaten into them by society. A triffle. A silliness. They had no intention of it happening. They were feeling guilty for no reason, they weren't even sober when it happened! Malcolm and Demelza never strayed from their chaste companionship. Hugh often wished they would. Malcolm seemed to Hugh a much better fit for a romantic partner for Demelza, even if she was married. She married at sixteen! How could she know her own mind at so young an age? Ross Poldark had grown the girl in his own hothouse, like an orchid, from the age of thirteen. Kept her like a possession. Screwed around as he pleased, knocked up his cousin without a thought for the poor girl. And here she is fretted and feeling guilty over a drunken snog with a man who would never seek to hurt her, never give her a minute's worry and was as unhappily guilt ridden about it as she was... Hugh left with his glass of water. If they were too eager to keep browbeating themselves that was their choice. Hugh went back to his study hoping they could forgive themselves and maybe even admit that it wasn't so bad. Maybe even worth repeating! Hugh thought Demelza could do with entering her thirties with a partner that looked after her properly. Malcolm was mad for her anyway and a good friend to her children. Ross kept Demelza locked up like Rapunzel. Why shouldn't a friend like Malcolm be the one to scale the tower and save her? Hugh had come to like Demelza and Malcolm in their working together. They had napped on a sofa once, in Ladyland, tired from being up late writing, so late that Hugh left them to it and retired to bed, hearing them bicker and laugh and exclaim in sudden agreement as he went upstairs. Asleep in the studio, upright at the sofa arm, Demelza tucked in the crook of Malcolm's arm. Hugh whispered to the photographer to take their picture. Hugh sat next to them, gingerly, so as not to wake them, and pretended to read a magazine. The friendship between the drummer and the guitarist was very pure. Hugh pondered over them when he first met them. Asked Malcolm if there was something between and accepted Malcolm's strident denial. But Hugh in his close proximity to "Red and Blue" felt they were a charmed pair, talented, good friends. Hugh rooted for them, after this incident. Hoped for them. They were so sweet together. Could they find a happiness, in their music, in their friendship, of course, they already did. Could they find a deeper love? Hugh remained optimistic for them.

Red and Blue resolved to heed his advice. Perhaps they were too serious about it all. Perhaps a kiss wasn't the end of the world. Hugh was a bit jaded towards these things, he was older, sophisticated, had a playful attitude towards their plight, Malcolm and Demelza were sheltered and bound by working class mores in a way Hugh found amusing. Perhaps life should be taken less seriously. Not cling to guilt like a hairshirt A chance kiss in a cab, and on proper drugs apparently, not just drunk as they had assumed, an accident. Hugh was not wrong to counsel them to disregard it. But Demelza, Red, and Malcolm, Blue, did find it a difficult issue. Not his fault, not hers; but having nearly everyone and their brother keep insisting that they were too obviously a couple, clearly having something going on, insisting that where there was smoke there must also be fire, having lit the match at least in their flight from SoHo had rattled both of them. They tried to put it behind them. They did to some degree in their subsequent interactions. They behaved. That the kiss was the one moment in their night they could remember with clarity, the perfect kiss, everything about it wonderful, lurked underneath unseen but not gone. Not gone at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Native New Yorker, Odyssey 1977
> 
> New York girl, ooh, ooh, ooh  
> Runnin' pretty, New York City girl  
> Twenty-five, thirty-five  
> Hello baby, New York City girl
> 
> You grew up riding the subways running with people  
> Up in Harlem, down on Broadway  
> You're no tramp but you're no lady, talkin' that street talk  
> You're the heart and soul of New York City
> 
> And love, love is just a passing word  
> It's the thought you had in a taxi cab  
> That got left on the curb  
> When he dropped you off at East 83rd
> 
> Oh, oh, oh  
> (Oh, oh, oh)  
> You're a native New Yorker  
> You should know the score by now  
> (You should know by now)  
> You're a native New Yorker
> 
> New York girl, ooh, ooh, ooh
> 
> Music plays, everyone's dancing closer and closer  
> Making friends and finding lovers  
> There you are lost in the shadows searching for someone  
> (Searchin' for someone)  
> To set you free from New York City
> 
> And, whoa, where did all those yesterdays go  
> When you still believed  
> Love could really be like a Broadway show?  
> You are the star, win the applause
> 
> Oh, oh, oh  
> (Oh, oh, oh)  
> You're a native New Yorker  
> No one opens the door  
> For a native New Yorker
> 
> Ooh, ooh, ooh  
> Native, native, native New Yorker
> 
> Where did all those yesterdays go  
> When you still believed  
> Love could really be like a Broadway show?  
> You are the star
> 
> You're a native New Yorker  
> You should know the score by now  
> You're a native New Yorker
> 
> You should know the score  
> You should know the score by now  
> You're a native New Yorker, oh, oh, oh  
> (Native, native, native New Yorker)  
> You're a native New Yorker
> 
> Whoa, oh ho ho, you're a native New Yorker  
> You should know the score  
> (Native, native, native new Yorker)  
> You're a native New Yorker
> 
> What you waiting for, no one opens the door  
> (You're a native New Yorker)  
> For a native, for a native New Yorker
> 
> If you had your arm around a girl she was off limits and men would look for some other girl to holler at: this was true, broadly speaking, in the NYC 1970s but still a working class attitude of New York street culture. Malcolm is still bound within class differences (and male chauvinism/machismo) even though its America. 
> 
> $5 in 1978 would be $20 in today's money. In 2018, The Met ceased "Pay what you wish" for people who were not residents of New York State or current students in New York, New Jersey or Connecticut. Eligible students and New Yorkers with accepted I.D. can still, technically, offer a penny to gain admission. Admission for everyone else is $25 at this writing. And now they give you daft, poxy stickers to prove admission instead of metal tab buttons. :(
> 
> Hairshirt: a shirt made of rough uncomfortable cloth which some religious people used to wear to punish themselves. 
> 
> Chapter 6 and 7 of New Career in a New Town, "White Rabbit" and "Faith In This Colour", are set within the events of this chapter. N.C.I.A.N.T. is one of the oldest portions of this story, originally intended to be slotted in this section before I pulled it out all together and posted alone. The dialogue with Hugh in the kitchen is reproduced from chapter 7.
> 
> Reading New Career either in its entirety or from "White Rabbit" to "Heaven" (Ch.6-10) before the next chapter is probably useful.


	15. White Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comparative religion  
> Autumn in New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Shadow, Peter Gabriel 1978
> 
> Ten coaches roll into the dust, chrome windows turned to rust.  
> Hang on inside, they know they must, hanging on the green-backed words  
> "In God We Trust."  
> No one knows if the spirit died, all wrapped to go like Kentucky Fried,  
> Trying to read the flight of birds, low on fuel, getting low on words.
> 
> And she comes out like a white shadow,  
> She comes out like a white shadow.
> 
> Each one drawn to empty spaces, outsiders, borderline cases.  
> It's hard to tell black from white when you wake up in the middle of the  
> night.  
> Weighted down by the absence of sound, broken now by the cry of a hound,  
> Looking for movement within the haze, light can be deceptive with her rays.
> 
> And she comes out like a white shadow,  
> And she comes out like a white shadow,  
> She comes out like a white shadow.
> 
> Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac 1975
> 
> Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night  
> And wouldn't you love to love her?  
> Takes to the sky like a bird in flight  
> And who will be her lover?  
> All your life you've never seen  
> Woman taken by the wind  
> Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
> Will you ever win?  
> She is like a cat in the dark  
> And then she is to darkness  
> She rules her life like a fine skylark  
> And when the sky is starless  
> All your life you've never seen  
> Woman taken by the wind  
> Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
> Will you ever win?  
> Will you ever win?  
> Taken by taken by the sky  
> (Ah-ah)  
> Taken by taken by the sky  
> (Ah-ah)  
> Taken by taken by the sky  
> (Ah-ah)  
> Dreams unwind  
> Love's a state of mind  
> Dreams unwind  
> Love's a state of mind
> 
> Harvest Moon, Neil Young 1992
> 
> Come a little bit closer  
> Hear what I have to say  
> Just like children sleepin'  
> We could dream this night away
> 
> But there's a full moon risin'  
> Let's go dancin' in the light  
> We know where the music's playin'  
> Let's go out and feel the night
> 
> Because I'm still in love with you  
> I want to see you dance again  
> Because I'm still in love with you  
> On this harvest moon
> 
> When we were strangers  
> I watched you from afar  
> When we were lovers  
> I loved you with all my heart
> 
> But now it's gettin' late  
> And the moon is climbin' high  
> I want to celebrate  
> See it shinin' in your eye
> 
> Because I'm still in love with you  
> I want to see you dance again  
> Because I'm still in love with you  
> On this harvest moon
> 
> *chapter 10, Heaven in New Career In A New Town
> 
> beneath Museum Mile: East 82nd to East 105th streets, they are walking down Fifth Avenue from the low 80s to 59th Street. In the other direction are eight major New York museums including the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
> 
> vous êtes une déesse, je t'aime: you are a goddess, I love you
> 
> she seemed a little too quiet and seemed to give Garrick hugs for her own benefit more than the dog's. L.W.
> 
> Ross sighed. 'He paws at you...' protested a little voice in the back of his head A.T.P.2

I. Rhiannon

There was a lull in activities.  
Hugh wandered about the suite, nude. He used the bathroom and then went to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Hugh brought his drink back to bed. He pushed a couple of pillows against the headboard and sat, somewhat reclined. He took a sip and held it in his mouth a moment then swallowed as he turned his gaze upon the contented tangle of arms and legs that was Malcolm and Demelza, asleep, to his left. Hugh drank a bit more, again holding the liquid in his mouth to savor the taste. Much in the way he savored the nights developments. They must be savored now for the hotel was a magic boundary. Once they left, the veil was drawn and they must revert to their previous state. He and Malcolm would once again resume the bar that kept them chaste and honorable. Demelza had entered a divine state. She became a goddess. There were many goddesses of various faiths. They brought good fortune or ruin. They demanded tithes or sacrifice. They sacrificed themselves and became reborn. Some were vengeful, some were benevolent and nurturing. Hugh lay back against the pillow and thought of Krishna and Radha. The divine lovers who were always shown as a couple with each other rather than their spouses. Demelza's divinity was as Radha's. A flame haired magical being who bestowed holy and divine love on her consorts, brought visions, mysteries and pleasure to them. He smiled and closed his eyes. If Christianity was to be believed all of them had sinned, yet there were other faiths, other modes, other morals. Love is not a possession to hoard. You give it away. It is a blessing and a balm. Hugh opened his eyes and rested the glass on his knee as he watched them sleep. He had suspicioned it would come to this, that Demelza and Malcolm would, at some point, succumb to the desires that lay under their protestations of friendship. They were friends, of course, but it was clear to anyone that they cared for each other. Hugh had asked Malcolm, point blank early in their working together, if there was something between them. Hugh was amused at Malcolm's denial. They tried to walk the straight path. A chance situation intervened. Hugh had thought getting them in their cups might be enough. As it happened even in the throes of being dosed with god knows what at a party they still resisted each other. But it became a chink in their armor. One kiss, in turn, became the portal to a larger world. Hugh had not counted on Demelza including him in her ardor. He could not have dreamed she would show her favor to him as well. She lavished love and care on her children, her husband, her good friend and, it seemed, had a little love to spare for him too. They'd codified their own law this night. They were charged with the responsibility of pleasing the goddess and receiving pleasure in return. They were charged with the responsibility of guarding her honor. No one must know what they chose to do with open eyes and a total disregard for her husband. They were her acolytes and she blessed them... He was grateful. And benevolent in his own way. They had no fixed plans. He would leave them to their own devices in the morning. Demelza's kindness in allowing Hugh into her veil of mystery was generous. He would fall back and give them time to be by themselves. Red and Blue would be lovers in truth. They could not continue to behave this way once they left the Plaza. If that time was finite let the mania run its course. Let them have that time. Demelza stirred and yawned. She tilted her head and smiled up at him. Hugh put his glass on the bedside table and raised a sardonic eyebrow. She extricated herself from Blue who murmured but did not wake. Activities resumed.

II. Harvest Moon

Malcolm washed and shaved and got dressed. He'd left Red's room around five and they each prepared to meet Hugh for dinner at six. Blue had been careful not to get Red into trouble by leaving marks on her but she had left a love bite or two on him and he flushed with happiness at the sight of them as they were secreted away beneath his clothes. Secreted away. They would proceed as if it had not happened. That was the only way forward. But the memory of it would stay safe in his heart long after the marks faded. He smarted up a little tonight. Hugh would warn Malcolm when they went to a place where they needed to look formal. Hugh said they would dine at a bistro that wasn't fancy but Malcolm wore his better shoes and proper slacks instead of jeans. He had a slim black tie with green, abstract patterns woven in it from the 1950s and a white button down shirt. There had been a selection of old ties in a vintage shop Red was browsing in and he picked up a couple that looked nice. He felt like dressing up. He felt like he had been in the most wonderful dream and did not want to wake from it. Demelza washed and dressed and hummed to herself as she did so in a dreamy manner, awaiting Blue who would come back to collect her. She had on a black dress made out of a heavy, satin fabric that nipped in at the waist and flounced out at the skirt, stopping a little past her knees. It might have been for some American girl's junior formal dance. It had a sweetheart neckline and two deep pleats on the front and back of the skirt to accommodate a crinoline that Dem lacked but it looked pretty. She put on a new pair of stockings that were sheer black with metallic gold sparkles in them and flat black shoes with a point at the toe. It might have been her going to a dance as she twirled in front of the mirror and laughed as the skirt spun and ballooned out as she turned. Hugh hadn't suggested they dress for dinner but she felt like it tonight. They would be back at Hugh's house tomorrow. This was the end of their Plaza Hotel stay and she felt she might as well have the last harrah of dressing up to go out. Blue knocked on the door a bit before six. Red grinned and asked him in. "Ee ready, love?" he asked. "Just let me put my bracelet on..." Blue ducked his chin, "Let me do it...?" he asked, shyly. She nodded, smiled as she handed him a gold charm bracelet with different, tiny seashells and starfish. Blue, very gently, undid the clasp and put it closed around her wrist. "Thank you." said Red. They paused to admire each other and allowed themselves the happiness of a knowing look. "We match!" chuckled Blue as he helped her into a green wool coat. His green and black patterned tie showed at the neck of his coat. They cut a fine figure together. Then, no different they felt from the hundreds of other times Blue escorted Red, they went to the elevator to meet Hugh in the lobby.

Hugh sat in the lobby with his sunglasses on, quite elegant in a cashmere overcoat and wool trousers, his polished brogues, all black save the collar of a pale grey shirt peeking out of a v neck black jumper. Well heeled people sauntered in and out. Bellhops and luggage carts sailed past like boats on water. An incense of expensive perfumes, furs, leather and cut flowers surrounded them all. He waited patiently. He suspected Malcolm and Demelza were still drunk with it* and would not chide them if they were late, though they did have a reservation. He was happy to be gentle with them. They would reenter the real world by degrees, he thought. A little after six they emerged from the elevator. Only Hugh would have noticed the shade of difference between Blue escorting Red at the moment. As gallant as ever but with an extra hint of affection in it. Malcolm had his greatcoat, tie and his better shoes tonight. Demelza wore little black shoes and her stockings had a sheen of gold in them. She wore the green wool coat that she found in a store in Greenwich Village. It had a shawl collar that showed the modest neckline of her black dress. They might have been off to a party. Hugh smiled as he removed his glasses, not a smirk at all. He had relinquished his role as guardian to become an enabler. He put his sunglasses inside his coat pocket. "Good evening." smiled Hugh. They smiled back at him. They went to dinner.

They dined well in a cozy bistro in the 80s, near Madison Avenue. The sort that had half curtains on brass rings in the window, red walls and warm, inviting light from sconce style lamps. Hugh, Demelza and Malcolm enjoyed steak frites, dressed endive and a delightful red wine that tasted faintly of raspberries, plums and raisins. Small votive candles flickered at each table and their eyes glittered from the candlelight as well as their secrets. They had coffee and cognac and chocolate cake. They lingered over dessert as the discussed album tracks and performance opportunities, possible inclusion in some of the larger festivals in Europe. Or simply sat quiet over the rims of their cups and glasses, over small bites of dessert that masked the pleasures they'd indulged in bouncing from eye to eye.

They walked the meal off rather than take a cab. They were not in any sort of rush, strolling beneath Museum Mile, along Central Park. Red and Blue walked arm in arm and Hugh was content to bring up the rear. The moon was full and the hustle and bustle of the New York streets was absent. There was quietness as they passed occasional dog walkers or couples going to and from their own evenings out. Grand residences and consulates, old fashioned iron street lamps lit a path made of laid hexagonal tiles, landscaped with young trees that had lost their leaves and crunched underfoot as the moon shone triumphant over nature and the imposing buildings winking their window lights even after the week's work was done and the tall towers lay empty. Ahead of him, though there was no music, Hugh watched Malcolm raise Demelza's arm by the hand and let her twirl up the pavement a few turns before waltzing to some music only they could hear. Blue danced Red up the path, the sidewalk along the edge of Central Park with parked cars, sparse pedestrians and Hugh their only witnesses. They danced and Blue released her. He bowed. She curtsied. Red took his hand once more and they resumed their walk and then slowed. A sudden impulse to lift her and spin in a gentle circle before putting her back down. They resumed walking. Red with her arm round Blue's waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. Hugh walked on, making up the distance between them as Red and Blue stopped altogether and hugged each other, eyes closed, remaining still at the center of the crossroads of the world with her arms around Blue and his arms around Red. They smelled of old wool and clean skin, of cognac and chocolate, the hotel's shampoo and the fresh November air of a quiet New York night. Hugh came past them, continued up the pavement with a bark of a teasing laugh. "Ha! Break it up you two!" He turned, walking backwards, grinning under the street lamp light in his dark glasses, smiling at them. Demelza and Malcolm smiled at him and then looked at each other. Blue kissed her forehead and they walked once more. They held hands between them and Hugh turned to walk forward as they reached the nexus of streets and plazas that met the mouth of Central Park's entrance and the hotel's facade beyond it. They came towards the square where the park ended and the carriage horse operators waited to impress tourists to have a ride. Each horse and trap decorated with flashing of metal bits on polished leather, feathered headdresses on the horses and bouquets of flowers flanking the driver's seat. Coach lamps glistened and the soft nicker of horses who stamped and pissed indiscreetly as they waited for work. The jaunty frock coats and top hats of the drivers who called out their patter to passersby. Yellow cabs drifted past as well as dark, sleek towncars. The quiet night of the rich and those who serve them. Hugh, Demelza and Malcolm entered the lobby and waited for the elevator to reach their floor. They looked among each other with amused, gentle smiles. Hugh slowed and dropped back once more as Malcolm walked Demelza to her door. He would not rush them. Blue leaned against the door frame and Red stood, still linked by their fingers. She rubbed his thumb with hers and leaned against the closed door. Hugh bit down on a smirk. They had the same lovestruck look he'd seen in them earlier and looked as if they might stand like that all night. Hugh came up behind Demelza and leaned against the doorjamb. She looked up at him and he looked down upon her with a tender smile, not a smirk at all. Hugh's eyes flicked from her to Malcolm and the glint they'd seen in his eyes from the previous night returned. He huffed a little laugh. "Go on. I won't tell." Blue smiled as Red stepped forward and, still holding his hand, brought her free hand to his cheek. Very gently, they gave each other one last kiss. A kiss goodnight. They pressed their foreheads together with a sigh. "Goodnight, Red." "Goodnight, Blue." Malcolm stepped away and Hugh kissed Demelza's hand. He murmured against it before he released her "Vous êtes une déesse, je t'aime." "Goodnight, Hugh." He looked from her to Malcolm and said with a hint of warning in his voice, "Goodnight, ma fée. We shall all dream well and sleep sound. In the morning we return to reality." They nodded. They went to their beds and dreamt well as they slept the sleep of the just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm closed the record, handed it back. "Well, she's married, anyway. I ain't lookin' to mess with somebody's wife..." said Malcolm. Sir Hugh shrugged. "If the girl's willing, I'd not say no!"  
> When Malcolm hears Sir Hugh Brodrugan's attitude about a woman he had yet to meet the song was "Guinevere" Malcolm is secure in his morals and finds Sir Hugh's attitude offensive. 
> 
> "Will you pursue her?" Malcolm frowned. "Nay, she's married." Jean raised an eyebrow, this to tease. "No!"... Jean chuckled again. "You'd not be Lancelot, mon amie. Lancelot had the stainless honor until he committed adultery with King Arthur's queen, Guinevere.  
> When Jean Quimper teases Malcolm over Dem the song is "Galahad". The name Guinevere means "white shadow". Now that Malcolm has succumb to a temptation he believed himself not possible of committing the song "should" be "Lancelot" but I feel Blue remains Galahad because:
> 
> He sat on one of the pews and nodded that she should sit across from him. She and Garrick came to sit, she across from Ross and Garrick at her feet. L.W.
> 
> Demelza sits astride a bent wood chair, facing it backwards and resting her chin on her hands over the chair's back. Malcolm sits on the floor next to her. They are watching the trumpet players Hugh hired play their parts. N.C.I.A.N.T
> 
> Malcolm watched her play with Garrick, it was clear she'd had him awhile...they were pals... A.T.P
> 
> Malcolm raised one drumstick, as if poised to strike and froze. Demelza sustained the note she was playing as they stared each other down, eyes lit with mischief. He thumped the bass drum with his foot, bringing each beat faster, closer together, and Demelza giggling as she watched for Malcolm to strike with his raised hand. Hugh leaned against the door frame, door open just enough to witness this strange game in progress. Can one play at being a rockstar with actual rockers? S.F.T.D.
> 
> He looked at her nodding her head in time to the pop music on TV with Garrick in her lap. L.W.
> 
> Ross came upon them watching a film. Malcolm's arm around her as he leaned his other elbow on the sofa's arm, leaning his head on his hand. Dem laying her head on his shoulder, in the crook of his arm and neither moved an inch. They simply looked to him and smiled 'hello' as if it was the most normal thing in the world. S.F.T.D.
> 
> The dog started barking again. It was quite dark but Ross could tell it was just a puppy. That the kid thought his dog was any sort of protection was sweet and a little sad as well. They were as much easy prey as each other. L.W.
> 
> He sighed as he looked from one to the other. He wanted to be angry with Malcolm but he knew the city had changed since they had last been here. Nightlife had become too decadent. Malcolm knew how to watch his back among music people but clearly he and Demelza had their guard down among the art crowd they'd met. It was a trouble everywhere, Paris was no different these days... N.C.I.A.N.T.
> 
> Dem turned up her nose. "Don't pay them any mind Garrick! They don't love you like I do! Hmmph!" And Garrick followed Dem as she went out to Dwight's car. L.W.
> 
> "I 'ad another dinner, a bit more posh, but it was just as good! That guy ran the place that did radio jingles. They 'ad a buncha strays, like me, in New York but not from 'ere," M.X.E.
> 
> Ross sighed. "Hello, my love. You're going to have to stop adopting strays if you aren't going to sufficiently tame them..." She rolled her eyes as she grinned. "Blue's not a stray. Blue's lovely." Ross harrumphed. S.F.T.D.
> 
> When Dem, at 12 years old, left home, barely recovered from a beating so extreme Tom Carne withdrew her from school for fear of discovery, she was not alone. She had Garrick. When Dem leaves Nampara to recover from the pain of Ross' behavior and her own lashing out, striking Ross in anger, she met Malcolm McNeil at a party. When he returned a scarf to her a sort of transference occurred. Blue became Garrick's dogwalker but he also took the mantle of Garrick's loyal companionship as his own on Red's behalf. Now in Dem's new adventures, where Garrick cannot follow she has Blue. A loyal friend who stays by her side, grounds her emotionally with hugs and holding her hand, amuses her with humorous talk and his cheerful personality. They play, as musicians. He guards Dem and her babies. He sees both the lady and the "Luggy" in her, values and understands her working class roots, strives to protect her with mixed success and loves her dearly. BLUE ALSO SEES AND KNOWS THINGS ABOUT DEM/RED THAT ROSS AND THE PAYNTERS DO NOT. He has committed the sin he swore he would avoid but I feel he still maintains his honor. He never discloses their tryst and they remain loyal friends. Ross gave Dem a maple Gibson upon marriage. Blue cannot claim a married girl. He can love her, though, offer her his body for pleasure and a fleeting taste of sugar from the same tree.


	16. I've Done It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May flights of angels send you to your rest

"Ah, Cook. I hope you had a pleasant weekend?" said Hugh as he went to retrieve the pitcher of water from the refrigerator. "Yes sur, thank you, sur." she smiled conspiritorially. "I 'spect you had a good weeken' playin' matchmaker?" Hugh's smile, a proper smile, answered her before he spoke. "Ha! They needed very little help!" She stirred a heavenly smelling stew. "It pleases you? She be a married girl...?" Hugh poured himself a glass of water and harrumphed, suddenly grumpy to have to think of Ross at all. "Her husband is an ogre!" whispered Hugh. "I should think the goose should drink as deep as the gander if she chooses, he's quick enough to ignore his marriage vows when it suits him!" He took a sip and smiled again, making Cook chuckle over her stew. "If she wants to lay in the arms of her sweetheart I'll not tell." said Hugh. 'Or mine...' he thought with a brief chuckle of his own. "Malcolm's a good friend to Demelza. He'll not mess her about..." And with a wink on his part and a maternal sort of nod from Cook who did not misunderstand the cloud her employer's companions were floating upon today. Hugh returned upstairs to his study.

Demelza and Malcolm came back to earth by degrees. Cook, indulgent and amused, took care over tea in the afternoon. She made a pound cake with a particularly fine grained crumb from a family recipe and followed Mr. Armitage's brewing instructions to provide the pot of tea that sat between his friends on the table as they ate their cake in the sort of dreamy futrtiveness that so often glows between two people enjoying the same secret. Malcolm and Demelza spent the day playing records and looking at the Sunday papers and magazines that lay unread while they had been at the Plaza. They were left on their own to coast gently out of their reverie. By evening Red and Blue had come to some sort of unspoken agreement that their idyll must end. They sat, as the did countless times before, watching a film on TV, seemingly no different to those other times. Blue pulled a packet of Charms from his pocket, offered Red a sweet by extending the open end to her. She moved to pluck one out but Blue said, "Wait...", stopped, thought better of it. Blue removed a candy himself, unwrapped it from its square of waxed paper and Red smiled as she parted her lips and Blue, with great reverence, gently placed the sweet in her mouth. Before he withdrew his hand she playfully gave his finger a bite, enough to feel it but not so much it hurt. Blue smiled with a bashful tuck down of his chin and their eyes were bright and teasing, soft and loving. Both aware that they had now indulged in an intimacy that rivaled all the sex they'd had. Feeding Red a sweet was an act Malcolm would never have dared and Demelza's playful nip at his hand spoke of all that had been between them, sealing the secrets between them in one last indiscretion. They resettled. The ordinary companionship between Red and Blue came to the fore and became what was once more. Blue put his arm around Red who snuggled in the crook of his arm and they watched the movie on TV.

Hugh, aware that boards in the hardwood floor could sometimes creak underfoot, stepped away from the entrance to the sitting room, a shade near the molding at the mouth of the room and withdrew carefully in quiet mirth. He crept away secure that he made little noise and that Demelza and Malcolm were still too wrapped up in their own bubble to pay him mind. He went into his study and put his feet up on the desk. Happy to see their friendship retained and maybe even strengthen. He sat back and considered newer ideas. Whistle Test was phenomenal. He'd been grooming them for television anyway, in the French manner. They should enter Britain through Europe, thought Hugh. This would solve many issues. Sleeping with Demelza was a gift he had no qualms in accepting but it now made Hugh's intention to broach the subject of birth control (and certainly the demand that she take it without disclosing the fact to her husband -admittedly an extreme deception) totally impossible. If they performed in Europe, did TV there as well as the programs in England it would help in many ways. Television and live perfomance at festivals rather than individual tour dates meant Demelza would be seen by more people at once, have more down time to mother her children, he could maintain the schedule in his illness and not waste time, be nimble and tactical to get good results. Charting in Europe would strengthen her in the eyes of the record label. Being in Europe meant space apart from her husband. He would not have to fret over Ross Poldark wresting Demelza's career out of Hugh's hands with an ill timed baby if they were apart in her work. He put his legs down and sat at the desk properly, satisfied in these plans, jotting notes in his agenda. He put the pen aside and considered his bandmates. The most blameless thing you could ask someone to do in New York City is go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. None of this was engineered by him. He was free of taint in this weekend's outcome. That he had, from the first, a somewhat prurient interest in Malcolm and Demelza's close physicality had no bearing on this. He _had_ wondered, in idle thought, should they succumb to passion would they cry out their given names or 'Red and Blue'. Well, he had his answer now... Sleeping with his clients was a third rail Hugh scrupulously avoided previous to this. This was a situation of singular merit. A one off. He had no hand in it. It was the lady's choice. It was a moment in time, not to be repeated. He was summoned by the goddess and could only heed her call. Hugh heard their footfall on the stairs. "Night, Hugh!" called Malcolm. "Goodnight, Hugh!" called Demelza. "Goodnight!" said Hugh, raising his voice that he could be heard in the hall. They tromped up the steps to their rooms. Hugh chuckled to himself, tidied his desk. He should turn in as well.

Malcolm lay in his bed in a reflective mood. If you manage to hang on to your halo til the ripe old age of twenty-six it's probably inevitable that one would end up losing it in a spectacular manner. Da would never mess Mam about... Malcolm had broken a serious rule. Broke it clean over his knee. Malcolm closed his eyes and remembered _everything_. He lay on his back in bed. He found each piece that gave him pangs of guilt when he thought of them; Ross, Jer, Clo, messin' with a bloke's wife, carryin' on three abed, fell away as he dreamt of all that had gone on and knew how much astonishing joy was to be had, being able to let Red know he loved her with more than just words. And be loved by Red in return... When charged with the responsibility of being "good" he went "bad". Malcolm folded up like a cheap suit. He could not stop himself. He could not counsel himself to think twice, couldn't bring himself to regret it either. He dropped his halo like a hot rock as fast as a blade falls down from a guillotine. He was shocked to hear Red suggest such a thing but he didn't even consider saying no. Even if Hugh had declined, Malcolm could admit he'd have gone through with it. He hadn't meant to kiss Red but as addled as he had been by the drugs they had been slipped at the party he remembered that kiss vividly and it turned everything upside down. Ain't no way could he turn back from a chance to kiss Red again, and the rest... He reached behind his head, let his head lay on his arm. Hugh had not declined. They "shared" Red. That was more sin than Blue thought himself capable of. The McNeils weren't Roman, but even if he had been could you confess to a priest with no preamble how you rolled about in a bed with two other people and enjoyed it? Why should telling a priest absolve you? Malcolm could not tell anyone. Who'd believe it for a start?! Malcolm would not tell anyone. Red would not suffer for it, for her whim, her desire. He would keep their secret. Their stay at The Plaza was TOP SECRET. Malcolm was mad for Bond novels, the movies were alright but the books were a crackin' good read. The books were always better. Cars, spyin', villains with henchmen who had exotic ways to kill people and 007 who necessarily looked like Sean Connery in Blue's head. (No knock on Roger Moore or Lazenby) This caper they'd had seemed like something that Ian Fleming would cook up. Malcolm never in a million years... If you tapped him on the shoulder at Sir Hugh Brodrugan's salon and said, "'Ere! See that bird? Yeah, her, over there, Dem Poldark! You're gonna be havin' it off wi' that girl in New York City, wi' another bloke an' all! Swear blind!" Well. He'd not have believed it. He'd of laughed like a drain. Or taken offense. Malcolm looked at the ceiling. He knew better. He meant better. Never tried it on. Was prideful over being a good friend to Red with no funny business. He made a point of treating Red with the respect a married girl was due. He closed his eyes. She blew him away. It was... It... He opened them once more. Malcolm's halo dropped off him with a mighty great clang. As to Bond novels, he'd read them all but never thought he would have cause to live like that, dining in fancy places, working in fancy places, taking cabs everywhere and having the friend you adore suddenly offer to have it off with another man too in a posh hotel. That only happened in stories! Malcolm was now in possession of a TOP SECRET. Blue read enough spy novels to know "three can keep a secret if two are dead". Hugh was their manager, and a mate. Played a gang of bass, no slouching. Hugh had given them masses of things, information, clothes, instruments, posh nights out. Hugh had turned this working trip into such a pleasuredome something as over the top as the Plaza almost made sense. Hugh seemed determined that no one know what they got up to and that was good. It would stay between them, as a band, as mates. A trio. Hugh knew what they got up to... At the time, as much as one might consider these things in the heat of the moment, it felt like equality. He, Red and Hugh were equal in that room, in that bed. Out of it, now that it was over... If Armitage had call to be devious, he had something on both him and Red now. Had a TOP SECRET that could bend the other way, Hugh, their manager, could have leverage over him and Red, a power over them, if he chose. Hugh had said he would tell Red to go on the pill and not tell Ross... Hugh had shown he was already willing to be devious. But Hugh seemed as willing to go into the thing with the same discretion they had. Hugh couldn't have the cheek to ask that of Red now! Hugh has better sense than that, he can be an upstanding bloke. Malcolm brought his other arm up to cradle his head, on his arms, on the pillow. Do upstanding blokes get up to all sorts as they had done? Was Malcolm an upstanding bloke anymore? He turned on his side. Hugh lived like a prince, Red and Blue got to taste a bit of that kind of life. Got a bit too used to that sort of life, perhaps, in a short span of time. For Hugh, luxury and privilege were normal. Living like Hugh may have lulled Blue and Red into believing any decadence at all was theirs for the taking but it was Malcolm himself who used two legs to follow Red into that room with no thought for her honor, his honor, the bairns, Ross or that Hugh might have a change of heart and what seemed like equality that night might give their manager a sort of power over them both in the cold light of a different day... It was the height of foolishness really, what they'd done. Malcolm closed his eyes. For every good reason to chide himself and see the escapade as a case of bad judgment he kept remembering making love to Red. Kissing her for hours and hours. Being loved by Red. They may have made a giant mistake. It was probably a giant mistake. But they made it together, him and Red, and he would strive to be upright once more. No funny business. He saw her in her pleasure. She saw him in his. He saw the way her da had mistreated her, the scars on her back. They had shared a closeness they both held dear. Blue had come closer to Red in all ways and it brought her closer to him too. He could set aside any lingering longing or fancying Red. They had their time and it was wonderful. Now he would be her friend again and be her drummer and not slip no more. If your halo falls off you can decide to bend it back into shape, give it a bit of a spit polish and keep it by. It might not shine as bright or be perfectly round but, reasoned Blue, a dented halo with the shine off is better than none at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've Done It Again, Grace Jones 1981
> 
> I was on the first ship to Peru  
> Charted all the courses like all sailors do  
> First to cross the Mason-Dixon line  
> Overseeing wetbacks for good californian wine
> 
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again  
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again
> 
> I was there when Jenny Lind first sang  
> First to feel the cold Alaskan white fang  
> First to take a trip on LSD  
> First to vote for Roosevelt back in '33
> 
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again  
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again
> 
> Yes, I've seen it  
> Yes, I've seen it  
> And if you're feeling great, You know I feel it  
> Yes, I feel it
> 
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again  
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again
> 
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again  
> And I've done it again, done it again, done it again
> 
>   
> Charms: square, fruit flavored candies packaged in a foil paper wrapped roll like LifeSavers. They were individually wrapped inside the packet years ago but I don't think they are these days
> 
> Charting in Europe: having songs popular enough to be in a country's singles chart
> 
> Third rail: the rail along side the two rails train wheels ride upon that supplies power, electrified and lethal to touch
> 
> Not Roman: not Catholic
> 
> Malcolm was mad for Bond novels: Bond, James Bond
> 
> Played a gang of bass: a strong bassist, good musician
> 
> May flights of angels send you to your rest: Now cracks a noble heart.—Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!  
> Horatio, Hamlet Act 5, Scene 2


	17. It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight Return

Searching for magic to keep you by my side

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride

Ross frowned over Dem's agenda book, left open on her dressing table. Among other things that came back from Dem's trip to America was a creepy looking pink candle that was shaped like a man and woman standing side by side. The faces had the barest indentations to denote eyes and the features of faces and wicks sprouting out of the tops of their heads. If you burnt them their heads would disintegrate down their bodies. They were nude and the man had genitals, also as smudgy and soft looking as the faces. Dem came back from the bathroom. Her homecoming was a bit underwhelming. She was a bit grumpy and plead her time of the month out of the starting gate, like an edict that there would be no lovemaking to mark her return from this three month absence. She was home, back in London. Ross was not sure how to read her mood. Her reunion with the children was happy and wholesome. Their own was nonexistent. Dem had come back and Ross held her, he struggled to decide if Dem had slightly turned her mouth away. She kissed him with an offhand sort of efficiency. She was full of talk, full of stories but it felt like she was talking _at_ Ross not to him. 'She's jetlagged,' he thought. 'She's having her time of the month, travel on top of it, a nuisance that's annoying to her,' he thought. 'It was only right that she focus on Jeremy and Clowance,' he thought. 'She's gotten one foot in here, London, and then, almost at once, back to Nampara, she's not able to settle,' he thought. 'Nampara will be better,' thought Ross. 'We'll be home properly...' She had her head to the side, drying her hair with a towel. She had on a frail and pretty camisole, pale ivory with thin satin shoulder straps and Ghent lace sewn like a bib on the front, a new bit of frippery from her travels. A mismatch as her panties were old cotton and distended with a serviette. Dem, clearly, had a sullen tiredness over her. Ross felt sympathetic towards her. 'Nampara will be better, she'll feel better in herself...' he thought. "Did you write that?" asked Ross pointing to he agenda book. "What?" Dem squinted a bit in puzzlement. "'Searching for ma...'" he began. "That's just lyrics." she said in a tone that seemed to shut the subject closed. Ross watched her shake her hair as she brought the towel away. She seemed out of sorts, 'Well,' thought Ross, 'Dem had not been abroad before...' She seemed young and doubtful and almost _sulky_ -a word he would never in his life have chosen to describe her before. 'We'll go home to Nampara. It will be better.' Ross thought as came away from the table, Dem shook her head briefly, not just to help the dampness in her hair but to shake away Jud's voice in her head. _Kissin' all over 'er face, tsk..._ She turned from Ross and put the towel over a chair. Dem was tired, yes. She was glad to be back home, glad to be back with her children but she was pinned in a unhappy place, in her moods, in her deeds . _She liked it_... Dem shivered a bit, set it aside. Everything was too close to the surface. Ross behaved as if he had no dalliance with Elizabeth and she behaved as if she had not spent a day and a night... Dem gingerly got into bed, laying on her side and taking care to keep what blood was eminent aimed at the napkin. 'Nampara will be better,' thought Dem. ' _Space to think, time to think... Home...'_

"What have you been doing while I have been away?" asked Dem as she turned a page of the magazine, on the carpet of the lounge, the next night after Jeremy and Clowance were in bed. "Doing?" Ross stopped playing his Gibson. He looked confused and a bit affronted. "What have I been doing? Looking after the children, doing all the ordinary things of living and breathing and looking after the house... Living how I have always lived -but without you..." raising his voice a fraction Ross said, "I would have spent time answering your letters if you had bothered to write any..." Demelza sent a postcard each week but they were mostly for the children's benefit. She had not written to Ross at all. "Oh Ross, postcards we're all I could manage." She did not look up from her magazine, turned a page. A pause. "And how often did you try to creep into Elizabeth's bed while I was away?" asked Dem. Ross' mouth fell open and he shut it abruptly. Dem still stared down at the magazine, waiting to see if he would confess resumed interest in Elizabeth. Dreading either answer. If he did they would have to have it out. If he didn't it was proof that Ross would maintain the lie, even as Jud saw enough to tell Prudie of the incident. "I haven't gone to Elizabeth!" said Ross. Dem's head was down but she tilted up a bit and smirked in a manner so close the the way Hugh did it was disturbing for Ross to see. Dem was chagrined but not very surprised that Ross denied it. She did not want to challenge him, badger him. Dem rolled her eyes. Ross often rolled his eyes but seeing Dem do it was unsettling. "I'm joking...." She returned to her magazine. "It was a poor joke!" said Ross, offended as he set the guitar to the side. He spoke quietly. "I told you, Dem, Elizabeth will not come between us anymore! Do you think I've been thinking of her all this time?! Don't you know I missed you?! Do you think I didn't miss you?!" Demelza did not answer. "Dem!" Ross willed her to look up at him but she did not. "No, no..." said Dem. Ross frowned, indignant. "You don't sound very certain!" Dem still looked down at the magazine again. "You didn't ask me what I got up to in my spare time..." Ross huffed an annoyed breath. "Not writing letters, apparently!" Dem smiled. It was not a very nice smile. Ross was surprised afresh. Dem was in a mood he had not witnessed before. Ever. "Who is this fine lady? And what has she done with my wife?" said Ross, tartly. Dem kept her unpleasant smile. "I'm me..." said Dem. Ross looked at her sternly. "You're a stranger. I don't know you anymore." Dem did not flinch at this. "Well," said Dem in a warped sort of cheerfulness. If Ross was going to continue to deny seeing Elizabeth, kissing her in broad daylight where anyone could see and whatever else, it was little to her. She had an exciting trip to New York to keep her occupied. "After all I am still your wife. And as I am your wife I'll tell you..." And did she ever. The crown heads of Europe might have envied Dem's whirlwind of glamorous activity. There were never so many glittering nights and state of the art studio days, and Hugh did this, and Hugh said that, and Blue was SO FUNNY busking nursery rhymes in the street! Peter Gabriel was working nearby, he came to visit at Ladyland! Blue knew his bass player for they did session work before... Hugh knows all the best bookshops! Hugh said all the New York branch of Warner wanted to meet me! We had a FABULOUS cocktail evening! And the shopkeeper's daughter took our picture to hang in the shop! And..." Ross watched her. Listened to her. Dem was prattling and self important. Spoiled. Hugh had done good things in his work with Dem to this point but the Ladyland trip seemed to be a red flag to Ross. Hugh referred to the French performers he worked with as 'his ladies'. Ross believed Dem immune to the sort of blatant avalanche of high living her manager had contrived. Ross thought Dem more level headed but she seemed hooked like a fish by Hugh's largess over something as daft as 'fuck me' boots that went right up past her knees! Going to New York seemed to be a whim of his own, not a request or suggestion of the label. Was Hugh charming her into becoming one of his ladies? "Did _your manager_ choose those boots for you? Is that your _image_ now?" asked Ross dryly. Dem blinked herself out of her self satisfied recitation. "I saw them in the window and liked them! I chose my boots!" her irritation dissolved into gleeful bragging. "They're Italian! They were the nicest in the shop! Blue thought I wouldn't be able to walk in them but I did! Even he likes them." Dem faltered a little. "Don't you?" Ross in his irritation did not notice the needy sort of change in Dem's voice as she asked Ross if he liked her boots. She hadn't considered he wouldn't. She wanted him to like them, she adored them. Ross glowered. "Well, if you chose them yourself I'll not disavow them but I do think they're a bit much! This whole trip was quite a costly little bauble for a girl with only two singles to her name!" Dem sat up straighter. "What DO you mean?!" she asked, offended. "What's that meant to mean? You think I don't deserve the best? EMI sent you to New York and that was your first record!" Ross could have struck her. Dem was too wrapped around her manager's finger to understand she was being given lavish treatment that was suspect. "We did go to America, business was diferent then! We recorded our tracks and that was that! Ned, Dwight and I weren't being wined and dined and made to prance about the city on our hind legs like a circus attraction!" Ross struggled to keep his voice conversational. Dem bristled. "Hugh thinks Blue and I are good musicians. He's doing his job!" Ross would nip this in the bud at once. Armitage was throwing piles of his own money at Dem. That can't have been money from the Warner Records advance, the figure Dem was agreed upon by Warner against the sale of her recordings. What did Hugh think he was going to get in return? "You should have a care _ma fée,_ " said Ross with a growl of irritation. Dem's eyes widened. Ross' use of Hugh's endearment was a shock. "Have a care that you don't become dazzled by all this luxury he's throwing at you!" Dem looked up at him, angrily. She felt her armpits prickle from anxiety. This argument was getting dangerously too near a grain of unnatural truth. And their positions exacerbated their attitudes, Dem cross legged on the floor looking up like a bratty kid and Ross in one of the chairs looking down at her, the stern adult. “Why?” asked Dem, irate and feeling a bit ill from nervousness. "Why?!" said Ross, indignant. “He’s an older man spending his own money like water on your behalf with a string of his French starlets dangling from a chain. You need to guard against becoming a charm on his bracelet! It’s not Warner Records taking you to dinner and buying you boots and clothes and whatever the fuck else! Who buys four fucking guitars for their client? Did you even ask if those instruments were bought against your advance?!" Dem watched Ross' face show a self satisfied look of being correct as she realized she hadn't asked at all. Blue had mentioned later that the things bought in Manny's Music Store and Frank Wolf were purchased outright with Hugh's money. They believed it a kindness. The less they utilized the advance the less potential debt they would owe Warner Records. Hugh was looking after them... Ross said, "He's your manager! It isn't normal, Dem! I had better regard for your intelligence! What does Armitage think to get in return?!” Dem, with the surreal realization that Ross was warning her against Hugh’s lavish presents and high living. Warning her Hugh might want to seduce her. Ross was warning her not to succumb to flattery and wealth. Warning that Hugh might want to sleep with her. Dem had slept with him... She stared at Ross. She felt her motives for asking to sleep with Hugh and Blue had nothing to do with the money Hugh was spending. True, she hadn’t really considered the outlay of money necessary for all that New York had been but she did not go to bed with Hugh and Blue because Hugh spent money on them. It was her choice! If there was blame she would lay it at Ross' feet! Why should he run back to Elizabeth when ever he felt like it and expect Dem to remain hermetically sealed in their vows forever! And Ross slept with far more women than just her and Elizabeth anyway, when Dem was still young at school. Resurgam toured a lot in the 60s and Ross didn't just sleep with that Margaret... Hugh was their manager but he was also a member of the band! Hugh worked to see them be successful, and treated Blue no less than her! What did Ross know anyway?! Looking at her like she was just a kid! Resurgam never had a manager! “You mean you have no regard for my intelligence at all! Hugh bought Blue things too!” Ross rolled his eyes. “Hugh is a band member too! He wants us to be successful!” said Dem. “You think I would be taken in by fancy things?” Ross frowned. “Having a man snap his fingers and let you and Malcolm have free reign to run around New York thinking you're an infanta and a little lord can have that effect on some people!” Dem’s nostrils flared. Ross kissing Elizabeth whenever the mood struck him was some sort of god given right but she was just a little girl to scold, too dumb to be sophisticated. “Oh? Why? Cause I’m just a Luggy who doesn’t know any better?” Ross said stonily, “That’s for you to demonstrate!” The silence was awful. Each were too angry to consider it in those terms but a new malevolence grew between Ross and Dem in that moment. They stared each other down, each thinking that they were right and the other was wrong. Ross was a seasoned veteran of an older rock n' roll warning Dem to be cautious. Dem was a woman striking out on her own with a manager who got results. Ross was an R&B snob. He was against pop music anyway, what does he know, circus attraction indeed. Dem was a young, pretty girl, too silly to see she was being groomed. She and Malcolm, both, were being lured into their management's control. Ross was a hypocrite. Dem was a fool. _You turned your mouth away. You kissed Elizabeth! Jud saw you!_ _You come back totally up yourself in your silly boots like Hugh didn't pull every trick in the book, like it was all down to you! JUD SAW YOU! I missed you for three months and you act like you don't give a damn about seeing me! I didn't care about Hugh's money! Blue isn't rich! I WANTED TO SLEEP WITH THEM! I MADE MY OWN CHOICE! NOBODY BRIBED ME INTO ASKING THEM INTO MY ROOM! I CAN DO WHAT I WANT! NOTHING EVER STOPS YOU DOING WHAT YOU WANT!_

They looked at each other, steeped in their own grievances and annoyed. Dem shut the magazine angrily and went up to bed. She went up the steps in a funk. Ross still chose to keep Elizabeth as his secret toy. Railed at her for being an immature dolt who couldn't see Hugh's generosity as a problem. Dem had slept with Hugh for entirely different reasons. She slept with Blue for entirely different reasons. Ross thought Hugh could trick her into wanting to be his lover. She chose it of her own free will... _That’s for you to demonstrate!_ Deep down, down in some dark place, did Ross think she was a slag? She'd often been called no better than she ought to be, a working class, common girl, from girls at school, from grown ups too, since she set foot in Nampara. People openly thought Ross was sleeping with her, that she was his slag... _That’s for you to demonstrate!_ Dem began sniffling. She had every right to go to bed with Hugh and Blue if she wanted. She wasn't a slag. 'Nobody blinks if Ross sleeps with whoever he wants! I'm not a slag!' Dem readied for bed and curled up into a little ball, still aware of protecting the bed from her blood. She was tearful and quiet. She was desperately sad. Elizabeth was a lady. Gentry. She made Ross and George do what she wanted. She sent that letter on purpose to make Ross angry enough to do something foolish. Dem had been worried Ross might have killed Elizabeth that night, waiting, frightened when he still hadn't come home. But no. They made Valentine. Ross would never accuse Elizabeth of being "no better than she ought to be". He loved her... Ross loved Dem but she was just a Luggy. He could drag her up and make a sham lady of her by sending her to Hempel but deep down Ross thought her just as common as her brothers. As common as Blue. _Oh, my sweet lass, Oh, Red!_ Dem put the covers over her head. How was sleeping with Elizabeth acceptable but sleeping with Blue made her a slag? She fell asleep.

Ross resumed playing his Gibson in an attempt to salve irritation as well as his shock. He was annoyed. Hugh was suspect in his heavy spending. That it was to both her and Malcolm's benefit, that Armitage was a band member as well was a consideration but not nearly enough. Dem and her friend Malcolm might well be babes in the woods even if Malcolm had been a session player. He got work catch as catch can, Malcolm hadn't experience as a performer in a band. Ross was disappointed. Dem's obnoxious, bratty attitude had spoiled the homecoming Ross had been wanting, waiting for. Ross was shocked. Dem's flippant joke, asking if he went to Elizabeth while she was in New York, had rattled him. It was true that Armitage was as generous to a fault. It was just as true that his leave taking of Liza that afternoon she thought to escape the rain at Sawle Church would have upset Dem had she seen it. To the casual eye it could only look intimate. It was intimate. It had been their final goodbye. Not as friends for they would be bound by their history and Valentine, but the carnal love that Ross felt for Elizabeth had been laid to rest. It had an honest beginning, a vexing and destructive middle and a quiet end, his relationship with Liza had a quiet end. Dem had cause to feel let down more than once because of it. But that was over! Elizabeth was over! Dem was out of sorts, thought Ross. We'll go to Nampara and things will be better. But Nampara simply became a different venue. Ross remained on the outside, looking in. When she wasn't spending time with Jeremy and Clowance giving them both loving attention, chatting happily with the Paynters, cooking and playing piano, pointedly not offering Ross a chance to try out her Ovation guitars as she played them and was reunited with her stardust finish Vox plugged into her Orange amp, Dem remained enclosed in her own thoughts, her own shell of preoccupation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City, Bruce Springsteen 1973
> 
> serviette/napkin: menstrual pad
> 
> an infanta and a little lord: Ross is being derogatory, suggesting that Red and Blue are too young to see Hugh is giving them “too much” at once and should be suspicious. An infanta is royal, but not the heir to the throne and a little lord is a common insult for spoiled little boys. The truth is somewhere in the middle because Hugh is wealthy with these high tastes anyway and Ross, Dem and Malcolm do not know Hugh is ill. Hugh IS going overboard, in part because he’s trying to get as much success and enjoyment for the band and himself before he is too ill to continue. 
> 
> Ross is correct in his assessment that Hugh's lavish New York trip was self serving and manipulative. Unbeknownst to them, his need to see a doctor was what started the idea in the first place. Hugh WAS cosseting Dem with treats, not to get her to sleep with him(which happened anyway) but to win her trust to his own ends. Sleeping with her had quashed his original intent. Hugh had every intention of telling Dem to go on birth control pills without telling Ross. (Many entertainment managers as late as the 1980s did feel they had the right to dictate their client’s lives like that. Some probably still do now...) 
> 
> Ross, who doesn't know about Dem sleeping with Hugh and Malcolm in the Plaza, is not correct that Hugh's spoiling Red and Blue was the reason Dem chose to go to bed with him (them). Dem had already felt attracted to Hugh in their dance lessons and close proximity working together and pondering him in those terms before they went to NYC. By being as generous with Malcolm, Red and Blue see these things as part of Hugh's personality. It IS part of his personality. He is wealthy and thinks nothing of buying the best of everything as a baseline of quality. Hugh grew up in houses surrounded by museum quality everything. "Du" the Swiss magazine he is in love with constantly has articles about art and ideas from antiquity to the present day. Hugh is steeped in this stuff to the point that it's normal to him. It is just as much Hugh's personality that he games out what might bind a person's loyalty and usefulness to him, particularly with women, and deploys it, (flirting with assistants, being complimentary towards his secretary, Jill, gallant and generous with his clients in France) Book Hugh's motives are opaque. WG doesn't give the reader a hand hold into his thoughts as to why Demelza has his interest. 33&1/3 Hugh is in love with Demelza. Hugh believes he is "Third" in her life much the same way Dem feels second to Elizabeth. Her husband and children, first. Her good friend Malcolm, second. Hugh has muddled everything he used to have control over previously up in his distress over his illness. Hugh never got romantically involved with his French starlets. His increasing confidence as a bassist in the band has made him happy and he wants to be seen as a member of the band in truth not just a manger/producer standing in. He thinks Malcolm would be better for Dem than Ross romantically. He is also falling in love with his client. Now he actually slept with her in tandem with Malcolm. Hugh is terminally ill. All these issues are warping Hugh's judgement.


	18. Landside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.  
> Pray you, love, remember.  
> And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.  
> Ophelia, Hamlet Act 4, Scene 8
> 
> Pyrrhic victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrhic victory: a victory that comes at a great cost, perhaps making the ordeal to win not worth it. It relates to Pyrrhus, a king of Epirus who defeated the Romans in 279 BCE but lost many of his troops.

Dem woke and turned her head to look at Ross, sleeping with his back towards her. His hair trailing across the pillow, the hunched, defensive pose he was in. It was as if he was cowering as he lay curled away from her. She had been insufferable the last night they had been in London. Dem spent all of yesterday ignoring Ross. He had every reason to tread carefully, even in his sleep. She had her feelings hurt. He had his feelings hurt but she enjoyed it a little. Enjoyed watching Ross feel second best... Dem stopped herself sighing. She did not want to wake him. She eased herself out of the bed and went to the bathroom; washed up standing at the sink, not wanting the sound of water from a bath or a shower to wake him either, wryly aware the method was often called a "whore's bath". Her period had finished in one last gasp of rusted stain. She discarded the evidence, dressed and padded downstairs in her stocking feet. It was cold, edging out of November and into December. She put on her shoes and an old duffle coat, navy blue, one of its bone toggles long gone, a soft plaid lining in the hood. Battered and worn but still warm, good for a chilled dawn and a morning's ramble. Dem needed to think. Sort herself out. The tangle of her jealousy, annoyance and guilt needed to be teased apart in silent contemplation, before the children and Ross were up for the day or she would not have enough space apart to consider her feelings later.

Garrick's feet scrabbling across the floor to follow her made Dem smile. "Come on, Garrick! Come on!" she whispered. They went out into the early morning and she ran with him to the beach. He barked happily to be reunited with her and her alone, no one between them -just like the old days. Dem felt it too. Garrick had been her steadfast friend, never leaving her side when she'd been beaten so badly she could not go to school. Her companion who joined her in a London adventure that led here. Garrick had an uncomplicated love for her and she was grateful for one relationship that was uncomplicated and basic. No other was as straightforward. Her love as a mother held the shadow of Julia's death within it. Her love as a wife had left her discouraged. Ross was loyal in his affections but Dem had the misfortune to be second. His love for her was real but he had loved Elizabeth first. Her band, two men she respected, one a good friend, a peer. One a mentor, both her collaborators with whom she shared triumphs and success.... Garrick walked along side her on the dunes, the last portion of grass before it became sand.

_'I believe that a greater regard for yourself a greater personal independence on your part... Get rid of the notion that someone has done you a favor by taking you into our family..._

_'Ross don't own you, love! You can be your own girl, make your own rules! Be independent!'_

She picked up a piece of wood and raised it overhead to the dog's delight. Dem threw it forward and watched Garrick run to bring it back, his paws throwing small clumps of sand as he ran to bring it back. He was untroubled and happy to play with her again. Dem sighed. Both Ross' cousin, Francis and Blue had each pressed her to think about being less concerned with Ross and more concerned with herself, not to disregard Ross entirely, just think of herself a bit more, by being independent. She was trying to find her way through that now but even in trying to assert her independence from Ross she was maneuvering it still bound to him by unbreakable chains that he could semingly cast aside at will. She had cast hers aside. She had come home happy to be reunited with Jeremy and Clowance. She spent nearly all of her time reconnecting with them and their excitable happy talk and the feel of their arms around her. Jeremy content. Clowance content. Being together once more and space between having to work once more. Time to enjoy her family. Being a mother had not been a trouble upon her return. She took the stick from Garrick and walked with him a little further before throwing it again. Being a wife was a little less easy. Dem could admit to herself she had come home from New York in a bratty sort of rebellion. She was prideful and wanted Ross to see that if she was second in his heart then it didn't matter for she had her own life and her own music and two good friends. She wanted Ross to feel, if it was possible, even a small sample of how horrible it felt when the person who loved you didn't mind if you were second. Dem could see it upset him. In that moment she enjoyed it. Turn about was fair play. It was a wicked and horrible enjoyment in Ross' discomfort and she could not make herself feel guilty over it somehow. But it couldn't continue. She had returned from America needing to feel avenged, feeling equal. She could be as unfaithful as Ross, as casual and self possessed as Ross who still behaved as if he had no interaction with Elizabeth even though Jud had seen them in their perfidy. She had her revenge and even enjoyed it but the game must start anew. It did not feel like an enjoyment anymore. To wreak revenge was a selfish thing to do. The anger in her faded. She should be pragmatic. Lashing out at Ross was not a solution. Ross was never going to be second in her heart unless she chose to love, not another man but herself. If she put herself first perhaps Ross' occasional unfaithful impulses for Elizabeth would not sting so much. She had the exhilarating experience of living for herself in New York. It was a new sensation though, perversely, one of her first forays into her own independence was sleeping with her band.

Garrick ran around her in circles and she started running along the shore, further away from the house, she was not quite ready to go back to the house. Garrick put his paws up on her and Dem knelt down to give him a hug. She smiled to hear his happy panting and barking. Gratitude for something so simple as a hug. She stood up and threw the stick again. Dem sighed. A trio is a subtle unit and like a triangle it is better to have all three sides equal. Having decided that she could permit herself to stray, the problem of the trio became an issue. If Dem chose Hugh, she would be showing her favor to her producer and manager of short acquaintance over Blue who had been a firm friend for three years. If she chose Blue, their established friendship would keep Hugh off balance in perpetuity. They had only just reached the point where they felt they were playing as equals. Going to Blue first would pit her and Blue, together, against the producer, their manager. They could work alongside each other but not regain balance between them. She had no choice, really. If they were to remain on good terms as a band, remain equal, she could not have gone to Hugh first, demoting her older friendship with Blue second behind her manager. She could not have gone to Blue first, cementing their relationship as something Hugh would have to exist at the sidelines, alienated. She might have flipped a coin if it was just a matter of one or the other. The acknowledgment that she had interest in both men as she considered the desire to try being as casual about intimacy as Ross; Blue because their kiss after that party was plaguing her and Hugh in an impulse of curiosity that was a bit like touching a hot stove, something unwise that was still a temptation, Dem decided that there was only one solution. She summoned them both to her hotel room and told them both she wanted to sleep with them. And they did.

Garrick brought the stick back and Dem knelt down again, looked him in the face and scratched his ears, lauded him with compliments and then as she stood gave him some love taps on the flanks and started back to the house. She spent that night with Blue and Hugh and most of the next day with Blue. Hugh took his leave in the morning to let them have time alone, specifically suggest that she spent time with Blue. Sleeping with Blue seemed to settle their friendship. They did not seek or need more from each other having had that time and allowed themselves the experience. Their friendship seemed strengthened by it. She looked out into the distant water. She had been all the way on the other side of this ocean. They had seen the Atlantic Ocean at Coney Island. She was on the edge of the same sea. Sleeping with Blue did not complicate things... Sleeping with Hugh... Hugh was right, of course. They all knew it could not happen again. Dem didn't feel that she was becoming a light woman, a loose pleasure seeker. Not really. She didn't feel she was becoming like those people at the sex party she and Blue had blundered into in SoHo. Dem could see that choosing to be unfaithful to her husband did complicate matters. Hugh was looming a bit larger in her thoughts. He had already been a source of fascination. She put those thoughts out of her head. Hugh felt about her the way she felt about Blue. She cherished being able to sleep with Blue but didn't need to repeat it, didn't seek to do it again. She and Blue had kissed, by accident rather than design, they had been under the influence of drugs they had been given at the party. Ordinary they would have been content to be friends with no attempt at all to do something like that. It unbalanced them afterward. Introduced a possibility they had not considered. Became a splinter of discomfort. When she first met Blue Dem wondered, quite unbidden, what it might be like to kiss a man with a mustache. She was loopy from the drugs, out of sorts but it was lovely. It was lovely to kiss Blue, briefly in a taxicab speeding through the New York night. The genie could be put back in the bottle but forgetting the bottle, ignoring the bottle, daydreaming about opening the stopper again... That was difficult. She had watched Ross kiss Elizabeth like that in Trenwith one Christmas. It upset her but Ross had said, by way of explanation, "The past, sometimes it comes back." Dem looked out on the distant horizon, the day forming. Could she see their side of it now? A Christmas kiss between two who had known a love... If love is true can it ever stop? That was a harder question. Her love for Blue did not need the addition of sex to exist. Their closeness had been enough. It would serve once more, he could put her arm around her and she could hold his hand and life would return to normal. The love they had as friends was enough. To have gone to bed was a secret joy that could be put in a keepsake box rather than a genie's bottle threatening havoc if it were opened again. It was enough. Hugh was a whim, an experiment. Dem was not entirely sure if a keepsake box could contain what had gone on between them. Hugh told her, _This is our last kiss and I want you to remember it..._ The kiss was seared into her. If she closed her eyes now she could feel it. Hugh. Hugh decreed that Dem was a goddess, a goddess with two names. If she was "Demelza" her consort was Hugh. Should she be "Red" then Blue was the consort. That she declared herself "Red" at the start seemed to be something Hugh had anticipated. There had been no embarrassment. The strange situation was absorbed by all. That Hugh was watching them did not inhibit the heart stopping tension and sweet excitement of daring to show each other love in shyness, in growing ardor, and abandon within their own web in which a spectator did not matter at all. Hugh had no qualms of being observed. Hugh had no qualms pushing the envelope either. After holding to Dem's decrees, being Demelza, being Red, she and Blue had slowly been guided into a second path as Hugh insinuated himself into their interactions. The goddess transformed. Dem had become Demelza and Red simultaneously as the night wore on. She looked forward, at the house. She looked to Garrick, walking slower now, the energy and play of the morning still making him seem a bit youthful. That was something she had not sought, exactly, but it happened in a subtle, quiet manner. She and Blue actually started laughing, amused that it was happening at all, at the absurdity of it all. It was funny in a way. In for a penny, in for a pound... The laughter subsided. They made her feel like a goddess. She sighed. If it could only have happened in a vacuum, without hurt to anyone, she should not have regretted at all. In New York City, far from here. In the hotel, apart from Hugh's townhouse. An anonymity that almost felt like a vacuum. Even returning to her room, the last night before they left the hotel, the bedroom that greeted her was pristine and held no suggestion of what had transpired. The housekeeping staff whisked all back into order while she had been out. The bed redressed and neatly made up with new sheets. The stray glasses of drink that had dotted the room spirited away. The table where she had breakfasted with Blue in the sitting room cleared of everything, empty. One could believe nothing untoward occurred. But of course something had occurred. Dem told them both her intention with no fanfare and both Blue and Hugh had been surprised but there was little to no embarrassment. In the end, neither man refused her. It had happened, cut off from the rest of the world, an opportunity that settled upon them like a strange bird, making unreality out of isolation and giving the feeling, overnight and the next day, that she was a white shadow. No one. A nameless woman and two nameless men in a languid dream.

Hurt. She felt hurt when she heard that Ross was still carrying on with Elizabeth. Dem had considered herself entitled. Dem had gone into her adventure believing she had as much right to act like Ross as he did. But she did see that gave Ross the right to be as upset by such a betrayal as she had been in her ongoing unhappiness over having to compete with an ideal and watch Ross keep being drawn to Elizabeth. Equality went in both directions. What if Ross had been sleeping with Elizabeth while she was in New York? What if Ross had spent the night in Elizabeth's arms? How would Dem feel then? Dem felt no less in love with Ross than before -perhaps, perversely, a little more so. Ross did as he pleased, even before he meet her. He did love Dem, seemed to need her to be in love with him and able to give him forbearance when his antics brought her true sadness. Ross seemed to value her forgiveness as part of her personality, that she was honest to the grain and could see that his love for her outweighed the moments of pain and doubt for her when he would do these things. Even leaving him when he had his relapse had become a virtue to Ross. Dem loved their marriage enough to make Ross fix himself. This made Ross value her that much more, somehow. The discomfort she saw in watching him cope with her dismissiveness had been fascinating to watch. What happens when the angel of the house rebels? It seemed to frighten him. But not enough to confess. She asked if he slept with Elizabeth and he denied it. In that moment Dem did not believe him but became frightened to press him for answers. At the last she lost her nerve, shrugged her comment off as a joke. It was the first glimmer of what she realized fully now. Revenge cuts both ways. Ross losing faith in her would sadden Dem as much as Ross was alarmed he might have lost Dem's. She had made a pretty parcel of it all. They were equal. They had both lost.

Garrick waited at the door. Dem brushed sand from his paws off of her black tights. She wore white tights as her "something old" when she wed Ross that had a smudge of dirt from Garrick's paws, obscured by the dress. Garrick was excitable this morning but he was getting older. She was getting older too. Garrick sometimes behaved as if he had not known he had grown, still thinking himself a puppy. Dem wondered, darkly, if she had pretended herself an _adult_. She felt sophisticated and powerful in New York, in that hotel room. Able to be no different than Ross, able the chose her own way. Even now she could not regret it uncoupled from the rest but, in truth, it could _not_ be uncoupled from the rest, not really... Dem pretended the Plaza activities as an event in isolation, unconnected with the past, unattached to the future. But if Ross knew of it, even got to suspect it, then the anonymity of the experience would be shattered, the isolation broken into, and her life with him might be laid waste. In the icy light of early winter, batting sand from her tights, Dem felt a trickle of fear that all of those impulses seemed to stem from being immature. It was not an agreeable thought. She had made her choices, enjoyed her rebellion and her indiscretion in those moments. Apart from them now she did not much like herself. It seemed to her that if she had committed adultery it was for the wrong reasons and if she was sorry she had committed it, it was again for the wrong reasons. The only decision that retained merit with no regrets was the Whistle Test set. Dem opened the door to let Garrick in and enter Nampara herself. She had turned her pain and disappointment into art. 'If I was a proper grown up wouldn't that have been enough?' thought Dem. She closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Landslide, Fleetwood Mac 1975
> 
> took my love, I took it down  
> I climbed a mountain and I turned around  
> And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills  
> 'Til the landslide brought me down
> 
> Oh, mirror in the sky  
> What is love?  
> Can the child within my heart rise above?  
> Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?  
> Can I handle the seasons of my life?
> 
> Well, I've been afraid of changin'  
> 'Cause I've built my life around you  
> But time makes you bolder  
> Even children get older  
> And I'm getting older too
> 
> Well, I've been afraid of changin'  
> 'Cause I've built my life around you  
> But time makes you bolder  
> Even children get older  
> And I'm getting older too  
> Oh! I'm getting older too
> 
> Oh-oh, take my love, take it down  
> Oh-oh, climb a mountain and you turn around  
> And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills  
> Well, the landslide bring it down  
> And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills  
> Well, the landslide bring it down  
> Oh-ohh, the landslide bring it down
> 
> Dem has committed adultery.  
> She slept with two men at once for the most basic reason there could be, she wanted to.  
> But there some other basic causes at work. The choice to sleep with both of them was not the tragedy of a woman who could not make up her mind or a kinky fantasy made real. Dem did want the experience of sleeping with both men but was phobic over relegating either man as "second best". She had an animal like attraction to Hugh. She had a loyal sense of affection for Blue. She told both of them at once to "spare" other man from feeling like she does when she compares herself to Elizabeth. Also her attraction and temptation of wanting to sleep with Hugh was a desire that scared her a little. Sleeping with her manager is not a good idea but she wants to. Sleeping with a man who smirks rather than smiles, obscures his eyes with dark glasses sun or no and has a book of Félicien Rops pornographic art sitting cheek by jowl with his Coloured Fairy Books might even be a little dangerous. As explained in Part One, Malcolm is a conduit for Dem's delayed adolescence. He is, ten years after the fact, her "teenage pal" she gets to explore the world apart from her "family unit", Ross and the Paynters, with a friend her age. In the same way only Garrick the dog has direct experience with "Demi", Demelza as she was as a child in Illugan, Malcolm is the only witness to her "teenage scrapes". Blue is her friend through thick and thin. Dem trusts Malcolm implicitly. Hugh is an unknown quantity. Dem, wanting this, genuinely wanting this, also has the surity of having Blue with her in this experiment. This is not just because she doesn't want to demote one or the other man to "second'. Hugh is still an unknown quantity, particularly in his sexual proclivities. Demelza knows that Malcolm will not let anything bad happen to her. She, subconsciously, brought her security into bed with her. In the same way she left home bringing Garrick with her, Dem explores her sexual desires with her trusted friend nearby.
> 
> Also, Demelza has the freedom to do whatever transgressive actions she dares to try in her New York adventure because Tom Carne is dead. Consciously, Demelza wakes in the morning considering the fact that her father might have beaten her to death if he knew she asked two men to sleep with her and went through with it. Subconsciously, Demi gave Pa the finger. She had sex with two men, enjoyed it, and her father can't do a damn thing about it. In some ways her actions are less direct retribution for Elizabeth and more Demelza giving herself permission to try on Ross' cloak herself. If she can play guitar as well as Ross and try to be a performer like Ross can she also be as casual about her marriage vow as Ross? Can she be a rebel? Dem can try to "act like Ross" precisely because she has been released from her largest fear. Pa can no longer hurt her. Ross hurt her feelings and gave her anguish but she doesn't fear retribution from Ross the way she has always been scared of her father. In hindsight, she realizes that ceeding her moral high ground is a problem. She has dared to be like Ross but now this also means the discomfort of Ross feeling as angry, betrayed and sad as she often does should he find out what she had done is possible. She decides not to disclose the affair. She realizes she can't deal with the consequences of Ross knowing.
> 
> Hugh insinuated himself into their interactions: At the risk of giving more reason to distrust Hugh, the verb, "insinuated" was deliberate. Hugh declared a rule that Dem would have Hugh or Blue depending on which name she decided upon Hugh/Demelza, Blue/Red and then broke it as the night continued. This became agreed upon but it was directly against what was suggested when they started.


	19. Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet it hadn’t quite turned out as expected. What would one have expected? In spite of his brave words, perhaps the casual. Or more likely the fiercely resentful, a claiming of a right long since in abeyance and nearly lost. But in the event it had never progressed beyond the tender. Somehow a much-derided emotion had got in the way and turned it all to kindness. 
> 
> From WG's "The Angry Tide"

Dem was screaming. Ross turned about in the bed, murmuring, trying to wake up. He had not dreamt of Julia for awhile but it was always the same dream whenever it reared itself up. Dem was screaming and the room was a strange color, Julia was a strange color. A war began in Ross' brain. He must wake. Wake NOW or he will pick her up. He picked Julia up. Ross whimpered and woke with a start. The room had the subtle light of dawn, still dim but the objects in the room were quite visible. He thrashed about, waking up confused, tangled in the bed clothes, unsure what day it was. 'When is Dem coming home?' thought Ross. He wanted to hold her. Dem always held him when he had a nightmare. He woke up properly. His arm swept the bed next to him. Empty. Dem was back from New York. They were back in Nampara. Early morning but she had left their bed. He pounded on the mattress with his fist. Nothing seemed better. If anything it seemed worse. He was craving Dem's attention, needing Dem to love him. Needing her to care for him. Did she not care anymore? He rolled over on his front and clung to his pillow. Ross tried to shake off his dream, tried to go back to sleep. It was early enough the children would not be awake yet. Dem had left their bed. Did he not please her anymore? Was he just her humdrum husband in boring England? Ross remembered how exciting being in New York felt... He heard Garrick barking. Ross scrunched his face into the pillow in a sort of despair. Had Ross finally come to the point of being jealous of her dog? She had come in from out of doors, she had gone out. Gone away from him. After a time, the door opened. He looked to her, she stood at the doorway watching him, still so beautiful but _still_ at a remove. Ross looked to her, half afraid that she would just turn heel and go elsewhere in the house. Begin her day and ignore him. Dem looked at Ross in their bed. He looked asleep at first but his face tilted up to look at her. Her had heard her enter. He sniffed and blinked at her tiredly over the pillow in his arms. _Julia with all of the life gone out of her. The constant, desperate race to wake up before that part of the nightmare_... She crossed the room. "Ross?" He was visibly shaken. Dem could recognize it for what it was. He was hurting inside. Ross had a bad dream. _The_ bad dream. "Oh, Ross..." She kicked off her shoes and sat up at the head of the bed, her legs, clad in tights, still retained a chill from being out of doors. Her hands were cold but that was calming to feel as he felt her touch his face. Ross clutched round her waist and she held him and stroked his hair. He did not cry but he did look tearful. "Dem, she..." whimpered Ross. "Shhhhh..." said Demelza. Dem shushed Ross, tried to stop him being fixated on his nightmare. To bring him into the present even as they both still missed their eldest daughter. She could see him start to relax. Feel him relax against her. We must start over, the game must start anew... thought Dem. Ross closed his eyes in gratitude. Dem had come back. Dem saw his distress and knew what he needed, gave it to him at once. She'd left so early this morning... "I thought," sniffled Ross, "I thought you'd gone..." Dem felt heavy hearted. Ross' voice was so sorrowful and it was not only the bad dream upsetting him. She had kept him at arms length since she got home. Partly afraid that the taint of her adultery might be discernible, still angry that Ross would kiss Elizabeth and seek to be intimate with her after all they went through the first time in his obsession with her. Taunting him with sarcasm. Wishing he would confess to her about Elizabeth, being angry when he didn't. Boastful, pretending herself independent and the toast of New York when he didn't admit his dalliance and then Dem not daring to say much of anything once Ross warned her against Hugh dazzling her with success. Warned her not to be seduced... A dark mixture of vanity and guilt. Dem had been the seductress. Ross was too late... Marriage was not solely a matter of their monogamy (or lack thereof), thought Dem as she felt Ross exhale, felt him clutch at her in relief. She had committed adultery. He had committed adultery. They also both knew the rapturous happiness of having Julia and the dark mourning and sadness of losing Julia. Love bound them even as they wounded each other, made mistakes, felt devalued. If Ross still had Elizabeth in his heart did it matter? Did that have to make a difference to them, two people who shared good times and bad? The things that bind people together? For better or for worse... Dem rubbed his back, she looked across the room. She had lain in Blue's arms content and happy. She slept with Hugh and enjoyed it. She slept with _both_ of them and enjoyed it. The game must start anew...

"I'm still here." she said.

They spent a quiet Sunday together. Ross and Dem and Jeremy and Clowance spent most of the day in the parlor. Dem and Jeremy drew pictures at the table and Ross allowed Clowance the right to ride on his back like a horse, crawling about the floor, to Dem and Jeremy's amusement. Her commands to go left or right were strictly adhered to. Ross was a very obedient horse. After a time Dem helped Clowance color in a coloring book as Ross shifted his attention to Jeremy. They played checkers and Ross was pleased to see Jeremy give a good challenge. Clowance was sleepy and rather than put her to bed they let her nap on the sofa. Something in Ross and Dem made them want to remain near, stay within each others sight. Ross built up the fire and began to read aloud a story about Robin Hood. Jeremy's interjections about how exciting it must be to use a quarter staff and have adventures in Sherwood Forest were charming and added to the tale rather than being interruptions. Jeremy looked between them. "You could be Robin Hood, Papa! And you could be Maid Marian, Mama!" Dem grinned. "But who would you be, Jeremy?" she asked. He smiled, secure in his role. "I can be Little John! I am little too!" This was seen to be a good idea and as Little John seemed to know the order of peril involved to save Maid Marian, Robin Hood relied on the wisdom of his Merry Man to know what to do. There was the serious business of dispatching alligators in the moat in front of the pew where Maid Marian sat awaiting her freedom. Then a fight with the guards. Jeremy was complimented by both his parents for his prowess using an invisible quarter staff. Maid Marian was rescued. Clowance woke and demanded another horse ride. Ross obliged her. They decamped to the kitchen to have tea and milk and biscuits. They bundled up and walked in the Long Field. Garrick bound around the children, still upbeat and able to be spry from the fun of the morning walk and Ross held Dem's hand as they followed in the chill air, not talking but not finding the silence negative. They returned indoors. Clowance and Jeremy watched cartoons as supper was being prepared. Ross sat with them at first, then went to the kitchen laying the table with plates and silverware, assisting Dem by bringing food to the table. She looked up from what she was stirring, looked to him as he began to retrieve bread, and asked, "Do you want a kiss?" Ross froze, turned to look at her. It was odd to ask him like that. Odd but nice. He smiled. She smiled. "Yes, please." said Ross. A small, soft kiss that was as much a press of noses. A nice kiss. They stepped apart with a shy look of admiration and she smiled over what she was stirring and Ross retrieved the bread to put it on the table. They had their meal. At length the children went to bed. Ross played his Gibson and, after a couple of songs, Dem retrieved her twelve string. She was startled at how out of tune it had gotten. Ross watched her tuning her guitar, lending her a clear note to test against, finding it difficult to keep from smiling in a chore so mundane but so integral to them. They must be in tune. Dem caught much the same mood, a look of gratitude for small things and a situation in which they worked for a common end in partnership. Finding the correct notes to insure harmony. They played acoustic guitar together, having neglected to habit in their busy London life as well as such an absence in Demelza's three months in America. Ross was feeling better. He still held insecurities but Dem had been very present for him today. Even as they made a point of paying attention to Jeremy and Clowance she smiled and lay a loving hand upon the horse's back. She looked at Robin Hood with adoring eyes and a mirth he had missed in her. She gave Ross the same attention she had given the children from the first in her return, closed the gap he had been agonizing over in her brittle moods and bitter talk since she came home.

They readied for bed and Ross resigned himself to remaining circumspect. Dem seemed happier today but she had come home muted and tired, embittered and Ross did not want to annoy her. It was Demelza who decided to try again. She paused, having had her bath, and looked at Ross in their bed. 'If we are changed should not change together? Be who we are now, together? If there was still something good and true between us?' thought Dem. She climbed onto the bed and lay next to him. He was facing away. "Ross?" Her voice in the dark. He turned his head to face her "Yes?" She watched him in the dim light. His hair on the pillow, the look in him that was part wary, part hopeful. 'Oh, Ross...' thought Dem. She wanted to embrace the part in him that was hopeful. Dem leaned forward and gently kissed Ross' mouth. "Dem, I..." She placed a finger on his mouth. Quietly and with a surity about her, Demelza made love to her husband. She resisted the brief thought that it was a guilt gift to him. She focused on trying to begin anew, be Ross and Dem as they were now rather than their previous selves. They were no longer those people. Ross blinked at her in the dark. Not the first time Dem claimed the proceedings but the way she shushed him, rose to meet him, asserted her control was a surprise. It was not what he had intended. Ross had wished to make love to Dem, prove he could make her happy, win her back from her chilly remove, prove himself to her. Dem had other ideas. He shuddered from pleasure as she let him enter her slowly and seemed to tent herself over him, put her hands at either side of his shoulders to brace herself as she rode him in a slow gait and wet stretch of friction, her body around him. He closed his eyes and felt Dem make love to him. The soft pause as she rose once more in a slow rhythm that coaxed the blood in him to feel even more taut and hard, more desperate to feel her move upon him. "Oh Dem... That's so..." 'Good' died away in a huff of breath. Dem quickened her pace. Ross gasped and opened his eyes. The edge of a smile. He stared up at her smiling at him, bouncing in a faster movement that drove him crazy. He grabbed her hips and thrust to meet her. Dem startled as Ross pulled her near and lifted her from the bed in the strength of his hips moving. "Hahahahaha!" Ross' face flickered through surprise, another gasp of pleasure and then an astonished grin. Dem was above him, bouncing about as she laughed, from delight, from excitement, from relief as well, though Ross was not in a position to know that. Dem felt Ross want her, want to be with her and had a strange need to laugh as she enjoyed the jolt of his thrust towards her and the ragged sort of jostling they had even as they were joined. How strange it is, thought Dem, when you consider it. Sex is an odd looking activity. Dem had lost her sense of guilt when Ross returned her ardor. She became more present. New York was over there, the past, apart from here. She was home and what happened elsewhere had no bearing on this strange wrestling. Ross had called her a stranger but she was a stranger that knew every inch of his skin. His need to meet her, his eyes bright from desire and the surprise at her response. Staring up at her in a mix of pleasure and sudden joy. How wonderful it was to be back with Ross in Nampara and feel lighthearted. The relief of it made her start laughing and it made Ross start laughing. Dem felt Ross' stomach move from laughing as well as his fingers tightening more. More able to bring her up and down faster upon him himself. She sat still. Forced herself down, resisted his movements and sat.They looked at each other, smiling in the dark. She sat still, giggling. Ross chuckled, waiting to see what she would do and then gasped. Dem squeezed him with her muscles alone. She was stock still but she teased him within her. Ross shook his head in admiration as Dem giggled over him. "You asked for it!" laughed Ross as he rolled over with her and lay her beneath him. His drew himself up, bracing himself with his arms much as she had done and the began to kiss hungrily as he thrust fierce, playful and with a sense of relief. They had shed the fences and acrimony that plagued Dem's return. He had her back in every sense, in her body, in her laughter, her bright eyes in the dark. Ross pulled back from kissing her, arched his back upward as Dem brought the heel of one foot up to trail along his spine and he shuddered from the sensation of it. Ross moaned, lips forming the sound even as they still laughed, as he felt his cock straining its readiness to shake free with the force of his pleasure. "Ah! Hahahahaha, ahhhhhhhhDEM!" Ross looked pained, briefly. A pleasure so intense he looked hurt by it. Dem looked up at him, watched him in that moment. They still moved each other. Had that love. His heart beat as fast as hers. They could still laugh. They could still love. Ross lay over her, catching this breath. "Oh, my love," sighed Ross. "My love, my love..." He murmured near her ear. Dem clasped her hand at his head in a sudden burst of feeling as he shifted to lay alongside her. Gently, Dem's fingers sank into Ross' hair. She could hear Ross' smile, feel his happiness. Making Ross happy felt infinitely better than making him feel abandoned and defensive. Ross snuggled next to his wife. She held him close. Her heartbeat could be felt under his fingers, beating as fast as his. He nestled his face at her neck and closed his eyes. Ross was freed. Dem had returned to him. He could work to leave aside all the hurt feelings and guilt that had been eating at him. Hurt because she came home so dismissive of him. Guilt because he _had_ wanted to explain meeting Elizabeth in the churchyard, explain that Ross had come to realize he had felt secure that they had finished in truth, that Elizabeth would not come between them anymore. He would have liked to say: "Dem, I met Elizabeth and we talked for the first time for years. At first she was bitter and hostile. But towards the end she softened and when we parted I kissed her. I'm still fond of her, in the way a man is for a woman he has once loved. I would _like_ to be friends with her again -so far as it is possible considering whom she has married. The other evening I _tried_ to make her think I still loved her -for in a way I truly do. But not in any way you need fear, my dear. Fifteen years ago I would have given the whole earth for her. And _she_ hasn't changed much, aged, corsened or become less lovely. Only I have changed, Dem. And it is your fault." Ross would very much liked to have said all this to Dem; but Dem's sarcasm had stopped him. Scared him. Ross was frightened by Dem returning so strange and heartless with her flippant jokes and tart comments. He could not dare try to explain how he felt about Elizabeth after that. No possible way of saying how he felt would make any sense to her, he would antagonize Dem, even drive her away. So all that must be kept secret. And all must be left unsaid. He simply waited for Dem to find her own balance. And she had. She came in from the cold and held him in his distress with no hesitation. She was here today, truly here, truly home. Dem assured him that she loved him. She had been at a remove when she returned from the States and seemed cross with him but all was forgiven now. They were _home_. Afterwards they lay quiet. Ross remained possessive of her. His arms around her. His breathing softened. He was asleep. Demelza lay still, enjoying his touch. She was still troubled. Dem still felt connected to Ross. Still loved him. They still had their children. She felt a twisted sort of sympathy for Ross in his love for Elizabeth. She could see his side of it more clearly. It made her nervous. She had been staring up at the darkness of the canopy above the bed. She closed her eyes. Ross' weight and touch and warmth, his scent and the prickle of the hair on his body against her skin was familiar. They remained a joy. She remained Ross' wife. She remained Ross' friend. _I love a bonny lassie, a bonny, bonny lassie, she's as pure as the lily in the dell..._ Dem opened her eyes. If Ross felt for Elizabeth what she felt for Blue, she could understand it. A love that is real but different. A love that stays but locked in a place of memory. A love that doesn't leave you but stays in one time and one place... She would not fault Ross for Dem could not pretend that sleeping with Blue meant nothing. They had a wonderful time and it was very real. Dem closed her eyes once more. _Yes, like that... Yes ma fée... Still... That's the way..._ She'd not seek to bring Hugh and the hedonism of that night into the equation. Ross used to have casual sex when he went on tour, before they were married. Ross commited adultery. Now she had commited adultery too. They were equal now. Perhaps...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baker Street, Gerry Rafferty 1978
> 
> Winding your way down on Baker Street  
> Light in your head and dead on your feet  
> Well, another crazy day  
> You'll drink the night away  
> And forget about ev'rything
> 
> This city desert makes you feel so cold  
> It's got so many people, but it's got no soul  
> And it's taken you so long  
> To find out you were wrong  
> When you thought it held everything
> 
> You used to think that it was so easy  
> You used to say that it was so easy  
> But you're tryin', you're tryin' now  
> Another year and then you'd be happy  
> Just one more year and then you'd be happy  
> But you're cryin', you're cryin' now
> 
> Way down the street there's a light in his place  
> He opens the door, he's got that look on his face  
> And he asks you where you've been  
> You tell him who you've seen  
> And you talk about anything
> 
> He's got this dream about buying some land  
> He's gonna give up the booze and the one-night stands  
> And then he'll settle down  
> In some quiet little town  
> And forget about ev'rything
> 
> But you know he'll always keep movin'  
> You know he's never gonna stop movin'  
> 'Cause he's rollin', he's the rolling stone  
> When you wake up, it's a new mornin'  
> The sun is shinin', it's a new mornin'  
> You're goin', you're goin' home
> 
> Constant Lambert(Leonard Constant Lambert 1905-1951) was the Founder Music Director of the Royal Ballet. Though he was married he conducted a passionate affair with the then young ballerina Margot Fonteyn. He was a student of the occult, cultured and obsessed with her. According to friends of Fonteyn, Lambert was the great love of her life and she despaired when she finally realised he would never marry her. Some aspects of this relationship were symbolised in his ballet Horoscope (1938). He was not above bragging to select male friends that Margot's muscles were so strong from her dancing she could "activate me of her own accord" That was disclosed in a biography of Fonteyn published in 2004. Hugh's tutelage at some point in the Plaza proceedings taught Dem that skill. Ross knows that Dem seeing a book of Rops in Hugh's office introduced using a blindfold into their sexual play. It doesn't occur to Ross to think Dem teasing him in that manner was a newly learned skill, let alone one she learned directly from Hugh.


	20. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs used for titles and subtitles

Karn Evil 9, Emerson, Lake and Palmer 1974

Get It While You Can, Janis Joplin 1970

Remake/Remodel, Roxy Music 1972

Cheek To Cheek, Fred Astaire 1935

So. Central Rain, R.E.M., 1984

Take Me Back, Siouxsie And The Banshees 1984

Where The Wild Roses Grow, Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue 1996 

Simmer Down, Bob Marley and the Wailers 1964 

Can You Feel It, The Jacksons 1981

World Of Pain, Cream 1967

I Heard It Through The Grapevine, Marvin Gaye 1968

Wrapped Around Your Finger, The Police 1983

New York State Of Mind, Billy Joel 1976

Native New Yorker, Odyssey 1977

White Shadow, Peter Gabriel 1978

Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac 1975

Harvest Moon, Neil Young 1992

I've Done It Again, Grace Jones 1981

It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City, Bruce Springsteen 1973

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac 1975

Baker Street, Gerry Rafferty 1978


End file.
